How To Win The Hunger Games
by thecatclouder
Summary: "I was going to find a way to win the Hunger Games. Whether or not that also meant being a Victor, I was not certain." From the moment her name was called, Mimi Catalpa knew she was going to find a way to win. But for her, winning does not mean the same thing as it does to everybody else. She knows a little too much for that. Finnick/OC friendship.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins.  
A/N: The Catching Fire movie is coming out soon, so I am getting excited about the Hunger Games again and am writing another fanfiction. Updates should be fairly regular. I am also practicing writing in first person again after several months. Please review to tell me how to make improvements, or just comment generally with your opinions. **

**Prologue:**

I really should not have been surprised that it came to this. The Capitol is not good at having mere district-people keep its secrets after all, even though they were the one who'd set up the whole endeavour. As this was District 7, we were more under their influence than most.

The mayor, you see, was born in the Capitol. As there are secrets even I do not know, the exact reason for his emigration is unknown. Using what I had previously seen, exactly as I am not meant to under their rules so I will not claim it out loud, I construct a picture of what must have happened.

Capitolians love their scandal. The chances were that Mayor Patticus Prime had caused a major scandal, the likes of which had forced him to not only associate with but live in a minor lesser district. It was not something against the Capitol, or else he would likely be working beneath the ground without a functioning tongue. Despite his complaints and overly harsh punishments to the people, he was lucky. He had a high enough standing to become mayor of a district after his screw-ups.

Still, fear was the only thing I felt when I rose out of the crowd up the steps. Fear which I knew was showing on my face, before I hid it like I always have done in the past. There is nothing like living in a district with a Capitolian mayor that makes you learn to hide your emotions. Vaguely I noticed that I was not at all shocked.

The fact that the name _Mimi Catalpa _was called out was nothing to do with random chance. Despite being poor, it was nothing to do with whether or not I had taken the tesserae. There was no luck to do with it, much like the fact that District 7 had so few Victors was not unlucky.

In all the previous sixty-seven years of hunger games, District 7 had survived the deadly game four times. It sounds like a lot until you realize that the access to learning about weapons is less only than the Career districts. First, a girl called Birch had won the fourth Hunger Games. She was the only female Victor to date. That was followed by three boys, winning the sixteenth, the thirty-fifth and the fifty-sixth Hunger Games. A man called Blight was the most recent Victor.

I reckon it is all to do with honour, and the Games are not a place for honour. Honour is also one of the reasons I was standing upon the stage, waiting for, if history was to be believed, my inevitable doom. Being a poor person in my District left you with several options. Either you could join up with the loggers' training unit, as the Capitol always wanted as much output as possible and lumber was District 7's primary purpose. However, being a small girl like myself who was dwarfed by half the axes, it did not feel like a likely solution.

It was nothing to do with honour when I turned to picking pockets, but looking back it was clear that honour influenced some of my decisions. I only went for the rich, those in the main city who could afford it. Of course they noticed, like I had been half expecting, but unlike my expectations it did not lead to a public whipping or a death sentence.

Instead, Aimery Harrt, one of the main aids to Mayor Prime, had offered me a 'choice', which in Capitolian terms was 'do what they say or die'. I had then become what was known as an 'informer', subtly collecting information about Prime's main rivals. The people of District 7 wanted to be run by somebody from District 7, and among the rich there was no shortage of people wishing to be the next mayor.

The thing with observance was that I was not just paying attention to those I was told to watch. I found out things on both sides, and was told to tell them to the mayor. Some things I purposely let information slip to keep them off the main trail, namely the things which weren't punishable by execution or whipping, but they knew I was still keeping some secrets.

I knew that they knew, and they knew that I knew. Harrt was better than Prime was, having been sent from the Capitol by choice rather than by necessity. She would not have been in such a position if she did not have some observational skills.

And here I stood, watching the escort dipping her hands into the names for the boys. From my position I could see the bowl filled with all the female names from District 7, knowing full and well that every single one of those slips had my name on. It was not like one of the Career Districts where someone would surely volunteer in a situation like this.

When the escort, Tric Fondant, had asked for volunteers, she was simply met with silence. Having been the escort for District 7 for the past decade, she'd known the usual protocol. The Capitolian protocol, however, was still to ask.

"Walton Parm!" Tric called, and I waited as an eighteen year old man with arms thick from logging walked to the stage. He was not somebody from the main city, which was what the centre of District 7 was known to its residents. Instead he came from the various clusters of loggers' bases with surrounding houses commonly known as the outliers. Usually around half the district lived in the outliers, which made the regularly crowded Reaping Square even more crowded than it had formerly seemed.

I smiled just slightly when we were made to shake hands. It was not a real one, not that I would be familiar with my own real smile if I saw it in the mirror. The smile, if seen, would look wispy much like the rest of me, like a gust of wind could blow it off my face.

Peacekeepers marched us into the Justice Building. The interior was astonishing, even compared to the area I'd always waited in before my chats to Harrt. This was surely the special tribute quarters, an area designed to pamper those who were sent to their deaths. While the Capitol weren't intending it that way, it showed.

The Capitol were all to do with luxury, but the furniture set in the room was several years old which no respecting Capitol citizen would ever go near. The velvet of the couch had been nervously caressed by many female tributes who had shared this same room over the last several years, and the fabric had worn down just a little. On the table, one of the table legs had been well mended as District 7 was still a poor district, and the replacement table would have cost more than the net worth of the top four richest non-Capitolians in the district combined.

Thinking back to the female tributes District 7 had over the last four years since the interior of the room was replaced, I could think of the person who had done it. Three years ago District 7 had got a fighter, Cherry Crain. She had been the daughter of the owner of a logging firm so she'd always had enough to eat, and the muscle gained through training formed quickly due to a superior diet. Her father trained her, and the ability she had with axes rivalled the training of many of the Careers.

Unlike the Careers, she had never intended to go into the arena. She had screamed incredibly loudly when they had called her name, in anger rather than fear. 'My father promised me that this would never happen!' she'd screamed. She'd kicked the stage on the way up the steps out of pure anger. Cherry had a short temper. I knew that much even though at the time my only glimpse was just then, waiting for the names to be called along with others in the fourteen year old section.

With her temper she probably would have damaged the room. It was not the only thing she had damaged when in the Capitol and after. In the chariots, her classic District 7 tree outfit had been ripped, her eyes glowing red and defiant as she looked like she was about to throw a strop.

While training was private, I would guess training would have been the same. She had scored 11, which was the highest score that year and the highest score anybody from District 7 had ever received. The highest score before her had been 9. Her odds were given as 4to1, which beat even the Capitol's golden boy.

In the end, she had come third. The stroppy girl from District 7 had not been the Capitol's favourite that year. The Capitol's favourite had received the most expensive gift in the history of the games, and that same favourite was the one who had strung her up in a net. With her weapons she had almost escaped. Almost. The trident had found her neck before she could.

Apart from the boy in the 47th Hunger Games who had placed second, that was as close as anybody in District 7 had ever got without actually winning. Cherry had broken some records, but still in the minds of Capitolians she would go down as just another girl from 7. That was if they even remembered her at all, with Finnick Odair diverting their attention otherwise.

This year, I could imagine the streets being as close to buzzing as they could be on Reaping day. Walton was the strongest tribute since Cherry, and ignoring Cherry the strongest we'd had in over twenty years. He'd obviously know how to work an axe, and compared to him, I would be just another tribute, especially with the fear which surely showed in my eyes.

At least with him, there was a chance the poor of District 7 could finally have the monthly shower of gifts the Victor's district always received. It was at that moment I decided that I wanted to win. With the strategies previous Victors had taken, there was no sure way of doing it. Then there was the speculation that they did not really win at all.

I had spent enough time in Victor's Village, not that I was technically allowed to be there, watching the Victors. Blight spent half the time drunk, and he was not the only one who resorted to such measures. Haymitch Abernathy from District 12 was always in such a state whenever he was on TV.

The door opened, interrupting my thoughts. He was going to be my only visitor, I knew that. Coming from the communal home without any family, and desperate circumstances being as they are, he was the only one I was close enough to.

"Hi Ash," I smiled. Even that smile was not close to proper, given the circumstances. Ash was four years younger than me, and I had taught him everything I could about observation and survival. In my mind, he was my younger brother although we were not related by blood.

"Every name, wasn't it?" Ash asked. I nodded in confirmation as I knew it for a practical certainty. Pride swelled through me as I was glad for his observational skills. They would serve him well, although I had told him repeatedly never to use them to become an informer.

"Yes," I nodded. "You have to watch, or soon it might be every name as well." I was pushing it with how specific I was being, as the room was surely bugged. Not just with the cameras observing my every move, but in smaller places like between cushions. Nothing a tribute said to their loved ones would remain private.

He hugged me tight then, and I hugged back equally tightly. There were no tears. Living in the parts of District 7 we had taught us that tears only brought whipping. The only times the Capitol overlords wanted to see tears was when it brought them amusement, like in the Hunger Games. In places where it reduced productivity, it was a punishable offence.

"Don't worry, I will find a way to win," I said. Worded that way, it seemed right. In my mind, becoming a Victor and winning were suddenly two different things, like the same part of me that wasn't surprised at me being chosen had always known. Even though the words appeared to mean the same thing, they had two distinctly separate meanings.

I was going to find a way to _win _the Hunger Games. Whether or not that also meant being a Victor, I was not certain. But I would leave that for my time in the Capitol to teach me.

**Chapter 1 coming soon. **


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1:**

The next two minutes were spent reassuring Ash, although he hadn't been crying or even changed his regular poker face at all. I knew him well enough to know that he was hiding it, so I tried to make him feel better. Given the reality I knew, it was an area of speaking I was truly stumped at.

'It will all be alright?' No, that would be a total lie. In the end I just repeated the phrase about winning, and he smiled at me which almost made his expressionless façade crack. The two of us did not have to talk to communicate, and I knew as well as others that walls should not be broken down and there was a reason for it. If I was meant to go into the arena, my guard had to be up at all times.

"Don't try to watch," I spoke quickly, tears threatening to overwhelm me as my guard begun cracking and reality started setting in. This could be, and most likely was, the last time I was going to see him. "It's the law, but don't pay attention to anything that's up on those screens. I can run. They won't be able to catch me."

"What if the Gamemakers don't let you run?" Ash asked, suddenly sounding young again, younger than his thirteen years. "They want confrontations. Sorry, I'm not helping…" I closed my eyes and opened them again, my mind whirling. I kept thinking about myself up on the stage, realizing that for a change I simply could not remember the faces in the crowd. Not a thing. I did not know whether they were dismayed by the choice. Most of them would not even have recognized me, even with my ginger hair which was a rarity in the district.

"What if next year District 7 runs out of trees and the Capitol has no further use for us?" I asked, turning to unlikely hypotheticals to soften the blow. I really was no good at offering condolences. In my position I'd be able to change my circumstances, have some chance to survive based on my actions. At home, Ash would be helpless to me.

The ticking of the clock seemed to louden, bringing my attention to the fact our time was probably nearly up. I hugged him tightly again, tears flowing freely out of my eyes no matter how hard I tried to hold them back.

"Don't lose yourself to get back," Ash said quickly, the words practically silent in my ear so I was not certain if he had even spoken or whether it was just my conscience whispering. "You've seen some of them on the Victory Tour."

In my mind, pictures formed of the Victors, and the way that it usually took the Capitol days to put them back together again. Some years, it seemed like they had to drug the Victor the get through the interviews, and the expressions they had when their poker face slipped gave it all away.

"It's all in the eyes and faces," I nodded, smiling despite myself. I did not let go of him even when the Peacekeeper announced that it was time for him to go. Instead, I held him even tighter, murmuring into his ear about how much I loved and cared for him, then crying some more when my words failed me.

"I love you too!" Ash yelled as the Peacekeeper had to drag him away. I tried to force my mask back into place, both internally and externally, and distracting myself by looking at the Peacekeeper and trying to tell what he was feeling.

For me, the thing I feared most about Peacekeepers was the fact that I could not see them. Or, in fact, their eyes in particular. There was only so much a person could hide, and their eyes were the first things which gave them away. I could tell a lot about a person simply by looking into their eyes, and Ash had learned to as well. The final reminder.

After that I just waited. They had still only allowed me the limited time although I was waiting for nobody else. Absently, I played with the lace of my dress. One of Harrt's assistants had given it to me after we had talked in a very public place earlier in the year, the sole reasoning being that somebody associating with the Capitol should not be dressed like an animal. He'd insisted that I wore it to this Reaping, and at that stage I was only just suspecting that it was not a 'just in case' factor. They'd known, even back then, that I was going to the Capitol.

Just another girl from District 7, going to the Capitol into the Hunger Games. They could have executed me just as easily, but unlike whippings executions were still only carried out with cause. Harrt could read the tension, the way District 7's anger was rising and rising. It could be supressed, beaten and whipped back into place, but random executions tended to create more mobs not less.

As me being an informer was known officially known by me, Harrt and Prime, and unofficially by Ash, it was simply easier to send me to the Games. It was District 7, not District 1 or anywhere where there would likely be volunteers.

So I waited, thinking about anything but the Games and the Capitol. No matter which way the Games ended, 23 children would be dead. Thinking about my own victory seemed very selfish. They would all have families and friends, probably in greater numbers than I had. It was beyond irrational fear, or even the fear of the unknown, as at this stage all I could tell for certain was that I was fighting faceless others. It was a deep pit of my stomach I was ignoring, knowing that it would not go away but finding distractions until I could not deny it any further. The frequency and strength of which I tugged on my dress increased as I tried to keep my hands busy and my mind blank.

I had survived this long by observing what I saw rather than feeling it. As soon as I started partaking instead of watching, it was so much easier to pretend it was happening to somebody else. Right now, that was what my mind was treating it as. There were moments which I thought I would awake from a dream, but I knew deep down that it wasn't the case.

What seemed like a long time but also no more than minutes, Tric came and collected me, buzzing on about how great the Capitol was going to be and how District scum like me surely would not be able to believe her eyes. Not in those words, obviously, as that would just be considered poor manners in front of cameras when Capitolians were likely watching.

When we stepped out into the courtyard, it became clear that I would not be able to count the new experiences of the day on only one hand. For the first time, I sat in a car which vibrated beneath us when it moved forwards at a rapid pace. Then we were at the station, surrounded by reporters. I glanced at them dry-eyed, although I knew that they were probably red from the prior crying, ignoring all of their questions and refusing to comment. Walton went further, literally snarling at some who came too close.

Tric began telling him off, but I knew that acting like that with his size and obvious muscles would only gain him sponsors. As soon as the train left the platform, she stopped acting like the great little Capitolian she was meant to be and left us unaccompanied in the train carriage.

"Don't destroy anything," were her parting words. The look of disgust on her face as we took in the surrounding and basically leapt at the scale and range of foods available was prominent. She murmured something illegible, the only word of which I was able to make out was 'mentor', then left us to it.

"Wow," I spoke first, unable to keep the awe from showing on my face. I ran to the table, sampling some of all of the food, bounding onto the sofa and caressing the velvet which somehow was even more luxurious that than in the Justice Building. "Wow."

Ordinarily I would not be acting like this, and I found myself sitting up straight when I realized that Walton was still there. Pretty things, even those more amazing than I had ever seen before, oughtn't distract me or make me let my guard down.

"There is a lot here," Walton agreed, sitting down next to me. He too sounded awed as he took in the surrounding, his eyes resting on the deluxe chandelier which, even more than everything else, looked out of place on the train. If the ride was any less smooth, most of the glass would already have broken.

We remained silent in the same positions until the television flickered on, having not even attempted to make small talk. I leant forwards when it did, trying to take in every detail of the competition I could. Competition. Not people. Not yet. Closing my eyes for a moment, I imagined this was any other year and that I was not in the tribute train, watching the repeats of the Reapings in the square with hundreds of others as they were mandatory viewing.

As usual, the programme launched with District 1, and the things the commentators picked up on were not relevant in the slightest to the inventory I was making about my competition. They were expressing almost-disappointment at the fact that the girl from one this year was a brunette rather than a classic blonde, even before they actually showed the reaping.

For the Career Districts, it was a safe assumption to disregard the first names stated by the escort. This was no different, as when the first girl was called instantly another one volunteered. There was a strange pause when she looked at another girl, several years younger who resembled her only slightly, before mounting the steps. Krystal Alrich. It was not nearly as easy to tell things from the eyes on the screen as it was in real life, but I knew there was something different about the girl from 1. The boy seemed more classically beautiful, as I had long suspected only the gorgeous tributes were allowed to go into training for sponsorship reasons, and volunteered in much the same way without hesitation. Garnet Bling.

This continued for all of the other districts. I vaguely recognized the boy from 2, although I could not place him. I did not disregard a single one, taking in their faces, their names and their ages. As much as possible, I watched their eyes, but the camera did not pan the right way half of the time. Even those that cried could potentially, at this stage, be acting in the moment of shock. It did not mean they had no skills.

Soon, the Reapings for District 7 were up. Like most of the others, the girl from District 7 did in fact look scared when up on the stage. Tiny as well, like she could be easily blown away. Judging by that, she would be underestimated by others. _I _would be underestimated by the others. They could only see what they were given, especially if they lived in the Capitol, and hidden talents were things which often were left unnoticed until they shocked everyone.

The shock of seeing myself on screen made emotions of fear return, which I supressed once more. _Not in front of Walton, _I told myself, although I would try and hold it in for as long as I could. Throughout the whole thing, I struggled to remain impartial. This was merely a glimpse into the profiles of my competitors, rather than the all-encompassing guide the Careers famously took them as.

"What's it like living in the outliers?" I asked into air eventually, seconds after the closing credits. The repeats for District 1 would start in several minutes so I flicked the television off. I would not be having distractions in the background if I could help it.

"I could ask you the same question about the city, but you would not tell me," Walton said. I smiled, noting to myself that Walton was perceptive. It was a skill which was apparently learned early no matter which part of District 7 you lived in.

"The city is great if you are rich," I said. "It's the congregation of rich people and businesses, many of which selling food, naturally at high prices." Technically, that would partially answer the question he spoke but not at all the question he meant.

"So people starve to death on the streets," Walton said, commenting on the final part of the sentence. "Your answers are rather general."

"So far, you have not answered my questions at all so you are benefitting more out of this than me," I replied. That was not technically true. Watching his movements and reactions, I could tell a lot more about him than I would have done if he had answered even truthfully.

Walton Parm did not want to kill people, no matter his experience with deadly weapons. I could tell by his response to my points, as it was on his mind. It was reluctance, not flat out refusal, so I doubted that his resolve would last more than several days into the Games.

"You would not have started this conversation if you did not have a goal in mind," Walton countered. I smiled just slightly, telling him what he needed to know and exactly how much I was going to show him.

"Do _you _think District 7 will have a Victor this year, judging by the competition?" I asked, and he simply looked around to the area in the train which we still sat in completely alone.

"District 7 might not think so, as I don't see our mentors around anywhere," he answered. I considered this, having noticed that same thing but not quite aware of how the protocol usually worked. If public appearances were anything to go by from the other districts, District 7's mentors were in worse shape than many of them. The notable exceptions were District 12, and District 6 where most of the previous victors turned to morphling. The only one from District 6 who looked vaguely normal in her public appearances was the most recent one, the Victor of the 66th Hunger Games Axanne Baiter.

At that point I got up, smiling at him in a way that would surely look as fake as it felt. "It's been nice talking to you in a conversation where we avoided all of one another's questions." He actually laughed at that comment, although not much.

"You're alright, Catalpa," Walton nodded. He watched me as I grabbed a tray and loaded so much onto it that I could barely carry it. "If the mentors turn up, I'll tell them you've helped yourself to dinner."

Judging by his size, he could easily both eat and carry more than I had collected. It was not the time to ask for his help, even though thin borders of trust had been formed. I just grinned at him and left, not getting further than the hall before I realized I did not actually know where my room was meant to be. That made my smile widen even further as I sunk down onto the ground again, all by myself, eating a portion of food four times the size of what I would usually have in a day and considering what I had just learned about my district partner and the other tributes.

The mentors did show up eventually. In fact, they arrived to find me mentally drifting in the hall, trying to figure out where I had seen the boy from 2 before. That was an easier thing to focus on. I turned his name, Katran Phanes, over repeatedly in my mind, wondering whether he had any prior connection to the Victors and whether I might have seen him in a crowd in a Victory Tour once. It certainly wasn't from the boy, Viktor Artem, who had won last year, or any of the other recent Victors from District 2.

Usually, many people from the Districts looked vaguely similar, and Katran was not one of the exceptions. He seemed like classic District 2 stock, physically strong and imposing. District 2 was also the district most Peacekeepers came from, a trait which most of them also shared.

Blight and Alder, the most recent two District 7 Victors, were mentoring this year. When they looked down on me I pulled myself up to my full height and found myself still dwarfed by the two of them. Refusing to be intimidated, I craned my neck upwards to look them in the eyes, dismayed when they had already moved on. Clearly they thought Walton had much more of a chance than I did. The only thing they must have been pleased about was how I most certainly was not crying, if 'pleased' was the right word to describe anything in the situation.

I followed them back into the main train carriage, looking at the clock to see only half an hour had passed since I'd left. Walton was still sitting in the same place, the TV on a different channel although the Hunger Games was all anybody was talking about. Without having seen the tributes in person, the Capitol was already beginning to offer odds for those with massive gambling problems who certainly could not wait. I scanned the names. Katran's odds were 6to1, odds which Walton just fell short of at 7to1. My odds were at 30to1, which was even worse than the boy from 12 who received 29to1. I thought back and realized that was probably only because he did not show as much fear, and judging by the heights they gave was still taller than me.

"Have the odds changed or remained constant?" I asked Walton.

"They have not seen any more of us, so naturally as this is the Capitol they have changed as they decide which tributes they find pretty," Walton answered, and I looked at my odds again. That seemed true, as the girl from 8's odds were at 11to1 and rising for apparently no other reason. They probably factored in that she was a volunteer, taking the place of her twin sister.

"I pity anybody who decides to use the odds to bet at this early stage," I responded, knowing the train was bugged. If it wasn't, the word I would have used wouldn't have been 'pity', but rather 'despise' or an even harsher word.

"You have to make sure they keep betting on you," Alder said, clearly taken the lead on the conversational part but only appearing to speak to Walton. He would have said more, but I interrupted him with a question I was not certain he would answer honestly.

"How do you win the Hunger Games?" I asked. There were subtler approaches, but the purpose of mentors were to tell you exactly that. I knew how _Alder _had won the Hunger Games, through repeats as it was long before I had started watching. He'd also had skills in knives rather than axes, which was lucky because there were no axes available. The only weapons received were those bought by sponsors, and the least expensive were knives which were already twice the price of a full meal. Alder had been popular, managing to play the crowd enough and Birch, who had mentored him at the time, had sent him a knife on the first day before the prices soared too far.

The aim of not having weapons had clearly been to have more hand-on-hand combat, but it only made the Games last less time as the Careers had enough sponsors to receive weapons. Nobody else could defend themselves, and the tundra environment prevented hiding. When the Career alliance imploded after the final eight was reached in only two days, things started heating up. District 2 killed District 1, while the boy from 4 who remained made a quick escape. The other two remaining tributes were scattered around the arena, and got gradually picked off by the pair from 2 over the next day, leaving Alder alive against only the Careers from 2 and 4. District 2 eventually turned on each other, and Alder made his first kill by stabbing the boy from 4 from behind. He was only just able to kill the injured girl from District 2.

To me, it did not seem like a good strategy. There were five things which won the Games, if history was anything to go by: strategy, strength, skill, popularity and luck. Alder seemed to have won with mainly the last one, but the other factors were still in play.

The answer he gave was not the one I was looking for. He talked about the survival skills with me, not even mentioning the weapons; not mentioning how those same weapons would be used to turn on your previous allies. I raised my eyebrows at Walton, who also seemed to be looking at the screen rather than listening.

"Which weapons will they provide?" Walton asked, and I learned that whether he looked like he was listening or not, he was. Walton would be one to watch, and not just for the obvious reasons. Actually, even though Walton looked intimidating strategy was probably going to be his most played attribute.

"If the mentors knew that before the tributes did, that would give an unfair advantage," I said. "You know, like letting the Careers train gives them an unfair advantage but nobody cares about that part."

The look Walton gave me suggested he was trying to gauge our mentor's reaction as much as I had done when I asked him how to win, but after that he smirked.

"As we all know, tomorrow you are going to be dressed up like trees as everybody from this district has been for the last thirty-five years," Walton said jokingly, making his already deep voice even deeper.

"Ah, you've got this mentoring thing down!" I giggled. This surely was the first time I had ever giggled like this, and I found myself liking my district partner more and more. In order to avoid the mood getting dark again, I did not point out that first he would have to win and that mentoring people to die was a horrible thing.

Our last Victor was twelve years ago. Since then, over two hundred and fifty people had died in the Hunger Games, over twenty of which from District 7. Abruptly my own mood got darker even if that of the room didn't, as I realised the circumstances again even though I had already known them.

For me to win, other people had to die. Nobody had ever become a Victor without killing anybody, and I did not want to become a killer. I faked a yawn as I suddenly wanted to be on my own.

"Where's my bedroom?" I asked politely, and Blight got up and motioned for me to follow him. He remained silent and I saw went he walked he staggered slightly. The ride of the train was smooth, and when I got close to him I could smell alcohol so I could assume he was slightly drunk. As I could see Walton and Alder still conversing behind me, I realized that this meant Blight was my primary mentor. I felt like reassuring him: "Don't worry, I will find a way to win."

"I've heard that a lot," Blight slurred, and I looked into his eyes, trying to see what he was unsuccessfully covering up. I was not surprised to see a lot of pain there, and I looked away quickly. Extended glimpses were not necessary.

He took me to the next carriage, and pointed to one of the doors. I pushed it open and watched him return to one of the rooms adjacent which must have belonged to the mentors. Again, the room was vast and luxurious. It would take far more than a couple of days to get used to the luxury to the Capitol, but in a way I saw how the Capitolians thought we lived like animals. We did by comparison, but that was nobody's fault but theirs.

As soon as I lay down on top of the covers I realized that I was actually tired. The day had seemed endless, as it was still relatively early. Walton would probably find his room soon as well, as the loggers woke with the dawn and went to sleep as soon as it got dark so that they could have maximum working hours.

When I closed my eyes, my mind wandered back to all the other tributes. I saw the brunette and blonde from District 1, my mind fixating longer on Katran as I still could not figure out where I had previously seen him, then wandered to Ray from 2 and Dina and Bert from 3. Again, I fixated on the boy, as only monsters would send a twelve year old into a place like the arena.

District 4: Anemone and Spear. The girl had not even volunteered; her name had been called like those from my district although with the muscles on her body she had obviously had some training. District 5, with the intelligent looking boy called Gregor and the eighteen year old Casey.

I opened my eyes once more, realizing how much the other tributes were on my mind. I could already imagine them competing in the Games, taking on the places of the tributes of their districts from previous years.

And this was before the Games had even started. What would this be like when I got to know them, actually seeing them in person? What would it be like when they actually started being slaughtered?

**Chapter 2 Coming Soon. **


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins. **

**Chapter 2**

With every second passing, I could tell that we were approaching the Capitol. It was only when Walton knocked on the door very early, at around 3 a.m., and told me that it was coming into view that I jumped up out of my non-sleep and rushed to the windows. Again it was magnificent, a word which I had been using a lot lately as there was no better way of describing it.

The Capitol with all its glitz and glamour, and the utter contempt of the districts, came quickly into view. It was nestled between the mountains with spectacular natural beauty, or would have been the case if the lights did not make everything so bright that the stars weren't even visible. The architecture dwarfed everything in my district.

I waved at the crowds as we pulled into the station, but they ignored me and screamed Walton's name instead. Most of them looked drunk though, like they would not remember any part of it the following morning. On our walk to the Training Centre, a woman staggered out and tried to give Walton a big kiss, although was pulled back by somebody in equally crazy dress who claimed he was her boyfriend.

Due to the distance from the Capitol and the time of the Reapings, the train from District 7 usually arrived at around this time. Maybe that was a minor factor contributing to the lack of sponsors, as half the people who saw the tributes arrive on the train would be too wasted out of their minds to remember it.

None of us talked, and we made our way silently into the Training Centre. Blight clicked on the number 7 while Tric moaned about how her makeup had not been camera ready and how the train should have waited for her to do that. In the Capitol, that constituted as something totally important, although she would be the only one to be told off for being disorganized.

"Quiet, the tributes from Districts 1, 2, 5 and 6 have already arrived," Tric hushed us when the elevator binged to a stop on our floor, despite the fact that she was the only one making a noise. I shook my head and waited as she directed me to a room, where I promptly lay on bed again thinking about trying to sleep.

Exactly for that reason I didn't sleep. My mind wandered and finally I was back in District 7 again, actually watching the seasons change and snow fall upon the trees. If I was illogical, I would call that a premonition of my return rather than a memory, and time seemed endless so I let myself pretend for now.

I must have fallen asleep at some point, because I was awoken by Tric knocking on my door like a hummingbird and announcing that my prep team had to make me over. It was a process that would apparently take all day, as it was only seven in the morning and the Opening Ceremony would not start in over twelve hours.

As it turned out, I did not have any knowledge of the inner working of Capitolian fashion. Somehow they spent the morning merely stripping me down completely, bathing me more times in an hour than I usually did in a month, waxing me, then bathing me again. Still, I was not presentable so they repeated the entire process twice more, after which they added lotions and potions.

Eyes gave a lot away. In their eyes, I could see that they cared about little more than the gossip they were sharing with each other and fashion in general. However, they were talking about the other tributes from a different perspective so I listened intently.

"Wouldn't it be great to style for District 1?" Nina said wistfully as she gave me some sort of facial. Luckily it was soft and did not set so I was able to speak, only facing their disapproving glares instead of limited facial movement. "Tula got an upgrade to there several years ago, when the two of us were working for District 6. Not that District 6 is ever that particularly strong, apart from 66 who got lucky. I got promoted after her. That boy in 63 got quite far though."

"Final four, wasn't it?" I joined in. The final four that year had been the boy from 1, the girl from 2, the girl from 4 and the boy from 6. District 6 that year had come fourth, which was unusual for them. It was even more unusual that three years after they would actually have a Victor.

"Don't move your face when you talk," Nina scolded me. "And why do you look so tired?" I would have said something about been woken up in the middle of the night arriving at the Capitol, but technically I had never been asleep.

"Oh, don't mind her. She's just cranky because she prefers District 1 to the lesser districts," Dunial spoke. "And we haven't even started tackling your hair yet. What, do you live in permanent smog there or something?"

"No, but we have fresh air," I said in as sweet a voice as I was capable of in that moment. Dunial nodded, as if that also confirmed his suspicions.

"That isn't much good for the complexion either," Nina said. "That's what District 1 also does better. Well, I guess District 2 would be okay but they all have scars, and not just always in the invisible areas. It's like they don't care how they look like, but they do have more Victors than anyone."

"They had fourteen Victors in total last year, didn't they?" Dunial wondered aloud. I decided to voice my considerations about Katran.

"The boy from 2, Katran. He looks familiar somehow," I said, and Dunial and Nina exchanged glances.

"Yeah, I was thinking that as well," Nina considered.

"I think he's the brother of that boy who volunteered for 66."

"No, the press would have picked that up by now."

"Not if his brother isn't a Victor. District 2 did not last long in 66. The boy even died in the bloodbath, which surely would have been an embarrassment to the whole district. I'm sure Katran wouldn't want to associate with him."

"That's what last names are for. If there was a Phanes in the Hunger Games recently they would have picked up on that," Nina grilled.

"He volunteered, and he could have potentially changed his last name so it's no longer the same. It's not like they'd throw him out of the Hunger Games for lying about his name, especially as he is an incredible physical specimen who would make the game so interesting."

"Parm also makes the game interesting. Did you see the odds? 7to1. Incredible. That's the best District 7 has done in years, apart from that girl What's-her-name from 65. I know you prepped her and she was a brat, but we couldn't possibly be expected to remember all of their names."

"Cherry Crain," I murmured, although they did not seem to hear me.

"Seriously, the whole time she complained about how she was never meant to be competing in the Hunger Games. Doesn't she know what an honour it is to be her?" Dunial continued for his partner, and I glared at him forcing my eyes open.

"And she got to be killed by Finnick Odair. I would be happy to get that close to him," Nina said wistfully.

"I'm pretty sure at that point she didn't care whether or not he was gorgeous, not that he was anymore over two weeks in, but whether she could kill him before he killed her," I growled. Even though I had tried to remain completely unemotional, the way they were talking was grating and I started hating the Capitol more than ever.

"No, I think that she totally wanted to be in an alliance with him. I'm sure that's why the Careers did not disband for the first two weeks," Nina insisted.

"Well, he loves the Capitol so much and you've got money," I said hatefully. I had attempted to remain impartial, but suddenly I hated Finnick not only for selling out to the Capitol but for killing that girl from my district that… I would have thought 'could easily have been me', but other than originating from the same district we were completely different.

"Not that much, and I hear that you have to…" she trailed off, like there was some massive secret that even Capitolians couldn't gossip about. "Well, that's what I heard. I went to the Victory Celebration with Axanne and then this rich Capitolian woman was saying something to her lover about what was going to happen."

"There's nothing like getting a Victor to get promoted," Dunial said sympathetically, seeming to leap to a totally different conclusion that the sentence warranted. "And 6 really isn't going to get another one in a while. Not that 7 is much better. Perhaps it was a demotion."

"The Victors aren't high most of the time," Nina hissed defensively. "I'll say it was a promotion."

"If you say so, Miss Defensive," Dunial was dismissive now.

"I think it's about time that we start on her hair. She looks almost human by now," Nina said quickly. For the first time I had heard of, a Capitolian tried to steer the conversation away from herself. I forced myself to relax, returning back a state of complete calm and becoming emotionless and un-judgemental. Perhaps it was due to the upbringing of the Capitolians which made them act like this – actually, of course it was. But I was not that forgiving. When I thought of the Capitol forces that were trying to send me to my death I could feel nothing other than hate no matter how hard I tried. Especially with the way they were talking to me.

I was incredibly pleased when they finally left and let my stylist in, but then was dismayed again. My stylist was a man from the Capitol who looked so Capitolian with bright blue and pink hair, light green skin and massive fake and glittery lashes. I blinked at him, half expecting to have been transported to a completely different planet.

"I really would have preferred the guy this year," the stylist complained to nobody. I glared at him as he took my whole body in. Even though he was the one with so much plastic surgery that it seemed like he was a plastic doll rather than a human, he judged me like I was the worst thing he had ever seen. "Okay, well. I see what the prep team have been complaining about. Here's a bag. The clothes are in here. I've made something original this year but it seems that it would be lost on you."

"Wow, original. Does that mean we don't have to be trees?" I asked before I could stop myself, and he glared at me with such an intensity which was mostly due to the eye makeup again.

"Of course not, trees are great. It's the only thing your pathetic district is responsible for after all. For originality's sake, you are a tree in reverse," he spoke down on me. As it turned out, his highly original idea was just another tree outfit, just instead of being brown the body was green, and instead of having a green headset it was brown.

"I'll leave you to it, as Cornia and I are preparing the victory outfits for your district partner. He actually seems decent," he said. "Don't crease the dress. Just because you're useless doesn't mean you have to ruin my design."

I hate Capitolians.

However, due to my stylist clearly feeling the same way about me, I had some spare time before the tribute parade. That turned out not to be a good thing, as my mind turned back to my competitors. I vaguely saw myself with a crown on my head, then I saw their faces again and they were the ones who had to die if I wanted to live.

"Don't think about it now," I told myself. I repeated that in my head. It was one of those things I could not think about at this stage, but would considerably weigh on me more when they were in training and I saw them in person. The tribute parade would be bad enough.

Before I knew it I was pacing back and forth. I could not do that in the heels he had attempted to place me in, so I slipped them off and walked around in my bare feet. Why had they even provided me with heels? My feet weren't even going to be visible in the chariot, and the Capitol did not usually focus on District 7. If they did, they would certainly not be looking at me this year.

That was alright. I certainly would be looking at them. It was all about honour, and I certainly did not want to owe somebody in the Capitol if they decided to sponsor me. Walton would not have a choice in the matter, but being me it would be easier to be underestimated instead of having sponsors lavish gifts and being a target.

The first thing I noticed about the tribute parade was the volume. Even before the chariots had left the massive building we waited in the roar from outside was massive. I waited stiffly in my chariot, not even acknowledging Walton next to me and glancing straight ahead. The volume increased once more when District 1 started riding out dressed in sparkles and woven silver. The boy was practically naked; the girl's dress was wide and puffy.

District 2 rode out next. No amount of makeup could make the girl from 2 look as beautiful or feminine as the majority of the other female tributes there, and she'd better get a fantastic score if she wanted sponsors. I found myself wishing for her getting a low score, even though I did not know her at all.

District 3 still looked weak. The girl had only just managed to get into her chariot in time for the chariots to leave after seeming to have been encouraged by the girl from 8. I was not the only one to notice it, as the pair from 4 were sniggering and it was presumably at her. District 5's outfit seemed to in no way relate to their primary export, even with years practice spotting what the stylists were going for. District 6's tributes were just average again, and it did not seem like many people were cheering, their eyes still fixed on the Career districts ahead.

Then it was our go. The chariot jarred when it started moving, the horses making it a lot less steady than the train had been. I saw dozens of colourful Capitolians, all in dress which would be out of place anywhere else and had clearly taken hours, cheering or jeering for people who were so beneath them they did not care that they were going to kill them.

The crowds roared for Walton, chanting his name repeatedly, but he just stared straight ahead. Ignoring my previous thoughts, I started waving, knowing that nobody was paying any attention so wondering why I was even bothering. Perhaps it was because I wanted people to _think _I cared whether or not I got sponsors. It had been the same thing I had done when the train had arrived.

After District 7 it petered out again. I looked behind me, taking in the other tributes. District 8 looked typical, with their clothing which probably meant to represent tattered rags of different colours. District 9 was streaked in gold, and District 10 were unoriginally cowboys and cowgirls again. If District 7 kept to the same outfits every year, District 10 did as well.

I was focusing on District 11 when the president's speech started, and I averted my eyes to his direction. Anger brimmed again as I listened. How could he speak about sacrifice in the city of excess? It was us in the districts who allowed him to have the excess after all, though not by will. I glared at him with such anger that I was sure he saw, even though it was dark and he had no reason to look at me.

My hands clenched around my dress so they did not make fists. Every now and then I saw myself and Walton next to President Snow on the massive screen showing our reactions. It was mainly him, but the anger in my eyes would not be missed by anyone if they chose to look.

It was a relief when the cameras to the nation stopped watching us and we were allowed to step from the chariots. I walked away as soon as I was able, noticing the tributes as I passed. The girl from 3 looked wobbly, her eyes seeming to tear up with the lights or otherwise. With the way she walked, it was either a very good act or she would not be making it past the bloodbath.

I was glad when I slipped into the elevator, gasping for breath. I would be fighting them in just days, and no matter what they thought the chances were, they would die. They wouldn't win, but none of them appeared to know it. None of them had given up hope yet. The Capitol gave odds. _I _gave odds, my mind forming them even though I tried not to.

Quickly I pressed the number 7, running through the halls and choosing a room, stripping out of my tree outfit and scrubbing the makeup off my face. I glared at my reflection in the mirror. I looked like one of _them, _even with the makeup streaking down my face which had not been Capitolian fashion for years.

"Mimi!" Walton called. I spun around, pulling the dress up again so it covered everything and heading into the adjacent bedroom to find Walton there. My mouth dropped open before I could stop it, shocked to see him.

"What are you doing here?" I asked before I thought the question through.

"However perceptive you think you are, you have not learned to find your own room have you?" Walton grinned. I connected the dots and felt heat rushing to my cheeks when I realized that I was in Walton's room instead of my own. Mine was just next door, but I had picked the wrong one when I had been distracted. I had to make sure something like that didn't happen again.

"I guess not," I responded with a small smile.

"How do you find the competition?" Walton asked, and I sat down next to him on the bed. I thought about the best way to answer that and settled on just one word.

"Human," I said.

"That's the problem, isn't it?" Walton agreed. "I wonder how many of the Careers have chanced upon that fact without their cockiness getting in the way."

"We'll see tomorrow," I replied, the words getting stuck in my throat and coming out choked. "Or, ignoring the Careers, how many of the other tributes have noticed?"

"They can't afford to think that way if _they _want to survive. That's why the girl from 8's plan is likely to work," Walton said.

"The girl from 8?" I asked. I pulled her face from my memory. Suffra Hadley. She'd volunteered for her twin sister, and I thought I saw her speak to the girl from 3, before the start of the tribute parade. That was all I truly knew about her, apart from the fact that she was pretty enough to easily get sponsors as soon as the Capitol prepped her. The fact that she was very thin was probably an advantage where the Capitol was concerned.

I could _infer _that she was poor, due to her clearly not getting enough food. The clothes she had worn at the reaping was further evidence of this. Apart from me and those who volunteered from the Career districts, and the pair from 3 who were from upper class families, the rest of the tributes had less expensive clothing which was probably the best they could afford and then some.

"She's humanizing herself," Walton said. "She told me her name, how much she cared for her sister and how much her sister needs her." He listed the points off on his fingers, but I could tell by his expression that it worked at least to a certain extent.

"So she's smart," I inferred. "It's a good strategy, especially with the whole volunteering thing. She won't want the others humanized, but even if they are she'll do anything to get home. The Careers?"

"Apart from Krystal, none of them really gave anything away in the Reaping," Walton said. "They will all try to act tough and form the pack."

"I know. Everybody is expecting that," I said. "They might want you, though. If they are slightly smart they'd realize that you are a threat. Even if you don't kill people you'll have tons of sponsors."

"I'm not going to join them. I'm not going to join up with anybody who trained and volunteered specifically to slaughter other children," Walton said with a cold tone in his voice.

"Good for you. Don't humanize the Careers then you can wait until they kill everybody, kill them, then go home," I muttered under my breath, so quietly that Walton could probably only half hear me. His expression told me he had heard enough.

"It'll be the only way," he agreed silently, his expression almost mournful. I got up and walked to the door, waiting there and looking back at him.

"Try not to think about it," I advised.

"Just so you know, talking strategy aside, _your _mentoring needs work," Walton said, smiling slightly again. He pointed to the right. "Your room is directly next to mine that way. I dread to think where you would end up without me telling you."

"Hey," I protested weakly, stepping out of his room and going to mine. I threw my tree outfit on the ground, having it crumple despite the fact that my stylist had warned me against that, and headed into my own bathroom. It still looked like I was crying with the way the makeup had smeared.

I sighed, wetting a towel and washing my face. It took around ten minutes until I was satisfied then I collapsed backwards into bed. For the second time in two nights, I found myself seeing the other tributes when I closed my eyes. Finally I just opened my eyes again, looking up at a spot in the ceiling and watching as random reflections of light danced off it.


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins. **

**Chapter 3**

I ate breakfast slowly, Tric milling behind me and telling me every four seconds that I would be late if I didn't hurry up. After the fourth time, I abandoned breakfast and headed to the elevator. Walton was already waiting by the elevator when I arrived, then we went down together.

Neither of us spoke as we stepped out into the training area, and I walked away from him so there were several tributes between us. Suffra, the girl from 8 Walton had been talking about yesterday, was already there talking to Krystal from 1.

"…sister not happy that you are here?" Suffra asked in a sickly sweet fake way. Krystal looked almost murderous, and I realized that she at least had not figured out the difference between training and actually going into the arena. "Mine isn't either. I'm Suffra by the way."

"Suffra," Krystal mocked, testing the word. "You know that sounds a little like _suffer_. I will make you suffer."

"Would you want somebody to make your sister suffer?" Suffra said. If the girl from 1 looked murderous before, she looked like she would explode now.

"My sister is not here," she argued tersely.

"Whether you come back or not, she might be next year."

"You forget that I am from District 1," Krystal growled. "District 1 has volunteers."

"Have you not noticed; District 8 also does," Suffra said, gesturing at herself. I smiled and nodded at Walton who was also looking at Suffra, but stopped when the Careers from District 2 started sniggering.

"What are you doing talking to the lesser districts?" the girl, Ray, giggled.

"Were you born a girl or did you have a sex change?" Krystal asked, which resulted in a shocked look from Ray. After this the Careers started bragging about which weapons they were good at, which did not get very specific. I vaguely wondered where the boy from 1 was, as the pairs usually came down together.

_Careers later, _I decided, turning towards the pair from District 9 instead. Both of them looked weak, malnourished. They were some of the poorer people there, but being from the grain district they might be able to find food in certain arenas. The last time there had been grain in one of the arenas was in the 63rd Hunger Games, which meant that it was relatively likely to come up again soon.

The boy from 9 was actually smaller than the girl, both of which were taller than me. The boy looked about fourteen and I remembered that the girl was sixteen from her Reaping. I pictured their reactions from what I had seen. The girl had been crying and the boy had taken so long to get onto the stage with a shocked expression on his face even though there were tell-tale signs that the recording had been cut so it took less time when I re-watched it.

When I looked away from District 9 again, Atala announced that it was time for the training to begin. I glared at her for a moment because her sole job seemed to be getting children to train to kill other children, and focused again on the direction everybody ran to.

Walton went straight for the axes. There was no point for him to hide his skills. Katran, the boy from 2, headed to the wrestling station with a cocky expression. Ray went to the knives and District 4 focused on the spears. Garnet joined Ray at the knives after looking around for a second, but Krystal did not appear to know exactly where to go and just watched the others before drifting towards the sword station.

At this point I realized that I had not moved from my space and went over to the netting, climbing up it until I was nestled above the main training area and looking down. I had skills. While I couldn't use an axe like many of the people in my district could, I was able to use a knife. Not for throwing at people and killing them, but if necessary the skills were transferrable.

Suffra was again looking at Krystal, who was clearly showing off. She stabbed the dummy with unnecessary force with her machete, twirling it around in a showy way. With her next swipe, it fell to the ground and she placed the blade to its neck. Krystal looked annoyed when Suffra made a sarcastic comment.

"Don't insult me; I've got a weapon," Krystal said. With Suffra's next comment Krystal looked even more annoyed, so she stabbed her weapon in the space next to Suffra but incredibly close to her. Suffra was shockingly fast for someone who presumably had not been training and had a knife to Krystal's neck almost before _I _knew it. Krystal pushed her backwards into a pile of weapons and was then held back by some of the guards. At that point the Careers were laughing because in their training regime, Krystal would have been declared dead, killed by the girl from 8.

They were mocking Krystal rather than seeing what I saw. Suffra was a contender, and although she would probably do alright on her own she was targeting the girl from 1. With the way she did her hair, she even appeared to look like the girl Krystal paused for. The conversation they'd had about their sisters began to make more sense, and I smiled from my position above them.

Suffra was trying to manipulate Krystal, and it was definitely intentional. Perhaps she even wanted her in an alliance. The Careers would not let Suffra join, but this year I did not think the pack would last long either. They already seemed to hate each other and it was only the first day of training.

In my position I waited, focusing on each of the tributes. I took in everything that they did, the stations they visited. Some of them I watched out for more than the others, some of them I guessed would survive for longer. Strangely, from my position in the air, they seemed far less human than they had in the tribute parade even though now they actually looked more human.

Eventually, instead of looking at the strongest tributes I looked at the weakest ones. The girl from 3, Dina, was at the knife throwing station, but dropped the knife when the pair from 4 were also there and called her out as a bloodbath victim. She scampered, going to the centre of the room shaking like a leaf.

Garnet growling at Walton distracted me from her. He stabbed a dummy repeatedly, making intricate movements with his own sword trying to intimidate Walton. Walton caught my eye and smirked, then picked up three smaller axes and started juggling them. I gaped at him, and when he set them down again he smirked at me. I started laughing before I could stop myself. I leaned backwards, a large smile still on my face, when I spotted Dina staring at me. It took her over a second to figure out that she wanted to ignore me, then went to the camouflage station.

The boy from 3 was already there. I was shocked, because I only saw him when he revealed himself. Despite being twelve he had more skills than the girl seemed to. A strange feeling passed through me as I decided that I wanted to help that boy. It was not fair to send somebody like that to the Hunger Games. At this point he miraculously looked excited, but that would not last long. The Games were approaching, and the clock on the wall told me that more than I needed to know.

During lunch, Walton was approached for the Career alliance. He told them basically what he'd told me, which resulted in a firm 'no'. Suffra was also approached, but that seemed like a less serious query, more something which the Careers were doing to mock Krystal even further because she was almost beaten by a 'lesser' district.

An alliance formed between Celia from 10 and Hawk from 11, but it was still in its early stages. Instead of paying attention to the Careers I spent the afternoon watching them as they learned various survival skills. In several stations they were joined by Suffra who was doing the same. Celia was talking quietly about her life in 10, but I was only able to hear every second word. For the first time which wasn't a meal, I crept down from the netting and approached them, keeping only a station away.

"I grew up on a ranch," Celia was saying. There was no reason for her to be quiet as everything she said would be picked up by the cameras, and it was not like she was telling major secrets. However, the Capitol would not want us to know about the lives of the different districts so her relative silence was probably a good thing. "When I was eleven the ranch shut down. Leather was suddenly not 'in' in the Capitol anymore, so they upped the taxes. Only the richest ranch owners could survive and we were nowhere near the richest. They said we had to leave or else we would be executed."

"How many times was your name in?" Hawk asked. I blinked, then remembered that Celia was only thirteen. She looked slightly older, but not by much. She was the second-youngest tribute.

"Fourteen," Celia said. That was a lot for somebody who had only been eligible for Reaping for two years. "It's an extended family, and I was the only one who could get us food that way. Even working at the richer ranches we were unable to get enough money together for both a roof and food."

"I took the tesserae too," Hawk said. "Just because we are the plantation district does not mean we get enough to eat. The only time they feed us better is during the harvest."

"You know edible plants?" Celia asked, and Hawk nodded. I sensed that their conversation about their different districts was over and I stored away what I had heard for thinking about later. I took a step back and the whole world felt strange. I ran up to my position above everybody else before the strange feeling overtook me.

Poor Celia. Poor Hawk. Even though I had not heard everything they had to say I had heard enough. I'd always assumed that District 7 was bad, but I could tell now that it was probably not one of the worst. The looks in the eyes of those from District 12 was so much worse.

As soon as we were allowed out of training, I ran again. I stopped at the doors of the Training Centre, almost teetering, knowing that I was not allowed to leave but wanting desperately to. I missed the forests from District 7, and even if I got out there would be nothing like that in the Capitol.

Slowly I went back to the seventh floor, and I sat in my own room. Time passed and the clock on the wall told me exactly how much of it did. It was nearing the end of Training Day 1. In around 120 hours I would be in the arena. Put that way it seemed longer, but as soon as I thought about the days again, it seemed undeniably short.

My mind flicked between the alliances. Celia and Hawk. The Careers. Dina and Gregor from 5, an alliance which would probably also include Bert. For a typical Games that was quite a few alliances, as usually it was only the Careers and maybe one other.

If I thought about becoming a Victor, the latter alliance was not particularly strong even though I wanted to keep Bert alive. Celia and Hawk mainly focused on survival skills and by the looks of things they wanted to keep hidden rather than fighting. The Careers would not last long but would probably take out some of the former alliances.

When the Careers broke up, Krystal would ally with Suffra. Krystal would probably be the killer whilst Suffra was the survivor. Suffra would do anything, so if it came down to returning to her sister she would kill Krystal after she had taken out most of the other tributes.

Then there was Walton. Even though we talked I knew we would end up going separate ways as soon as we were in the arena. I doubted he would try and kill me or anybody else in the bloodbath but he would get himself weapons. He wouldn't ally with anybody else or he would have no chance of becoming Victor.

Could _I _become Victor? The thought pulled me up short because I was not sure I wanted to. If I played it right, tactically, I probably could do it. I imagined myself grasping a weapon, a knife in particular, and sending it at one of the opponents. The image that came to mind was little Bert bleeding on the floor and I let out a small scream. _No_! I would not be doing that.

Pulling on a hood so I would not get recognized straight away, I walked back to the elevator. I looked at all the different levels and finally clicked on the number 1, deciding I might as well start at the bottom and work my way up.

"This is stupid," I muttered to myself, but I wanted to see what the other district Victors were like. The Career districts were likely different to the others because most of their Victors were volunteers. The elevator binged to a stop almost before I was ready.

The hall of the District 1 floor was absolutely no different to the one I was in six floors up. I stepped cautiously forwards, knowing that it was my choice I was there and cursing the decision. It took me several attempts to manage to get myself to knock on one of the doors I knew did not belong to the tributes.

"Are you lost?" the woman who answered asked in a strange tone. I prepared myself to run although it was a stupid reaction. Not even the Career Mentors would be stupid enough to kill one of the tributes. That was the job of their tributes.

I took a calming breath, knowing that speaking to Aimery Harrt was far more dangerous than this. After all, eventually it had got me sent here. "No."

She stared at me strangely. I stared at her with the same intensity, finally recognizing her. She was not one of the most public Victors and she was slightly older and had cut her hair a lot shorter than the last time I had seen her on camera. Delilah Albur was almost as bad as the Capitolians, and I found myself glaring at her again.

"Well, I don't know whether or not your district has learned to read numbers but this is Floor 1," Delilah said. I was still glaring at her but I made myself smile. It was a bad fake smile.

"Well, I don't know whether or not it is frowned upon in your district to kill your allies but it certainly is in mine," I said, and the door slammed shut in my face. I knocked again, annoyed at myself for retorting but Delilah's expression told me enough. District 1 wasn't that particularly happy with her either.

"I have information about your tribute!" I tried. The door opened up again and she stood there, angry lines etched on her face.

"Come in," she said coldly. I slowly stepped into the room as she moved to the side, and motioned for me to sit down on one of the sofas. The room was large much like the tribute room, but unlike my room it seemed to be a separate communal area. "What. Do. You. Know?"

"What's it like mentoring someone who clearly knows it all?" I asked, and Delilah's expression was just like Krystal's when she got outdone by Suffra. "Do you think you are Capitolian? If you want something from you, you ought to give me something in return."

"Tell me first," Delilah said, sitting down opposite me. I looked into her eyes then took in the whole room. I wondered why there was a pile of shattered glass in the corner but I could guess. There was no alcohol in it so I reckoned that it had been thrown there out of anger.

"You're mentoring Krystal Alrich?" I guessed. It did not always work that way, but _usually_ the female mentor mentored the female tribute, and the male mentor mentored the male tribute. My district, where there were no living female Victors was a good example.

"Look, get to the point. Doesn't someone from District 5 or wherever need to cry herself to sleep instead of asking questions?" she growled.

"It's District 7," I said. I decided to tell first as this was taking too long. "As you are wondering, I'm assuming your tribute still thinks she knows everything and is not talking to you." Delilah nodded slightly and I grinned. "She's sort of allied with the girl from 8. Suffra Hadley. Be careful about her; I'd say that she'd do anything to get back to her sister." _… and maybe even stoop as low as you did._

But no, the girl for District 8 probably would still keep some honour, and even if she didn't there she would have trained a lot less in three days with weapons than Delilah would have done in years.

"What do you want?" Delilah asked. "You just said how you weren't going to give me any information without asking for something in return."

"How many times have you mentored?" I asked. Delilah had won ten years ago, but District 1 had quite a few mentors to choose from. As she was one of the most recent ones, she would be mentoring more often.

"This is my fourth time," Delilah said.

"You didn't mentor 64 did you?"

"No," she said quietly.

"You might as well tell me stuff. If you have any faith in having a Victor this year then by process of elimination I will not be coming out of the arena," I argued, looking right at her. She refused to meet my gaze but I could already tell that she was going to give in. Years of mentoring people to die, even in a Career district, must have taken its toll.

"I'm not going to have a Victor this year. I've seen girls like her. They think they can make it. Her family's even already planned a victory party for her and invited all of their friends and rivals. They really don't know what it's going to be like and eventually they are going to either go crazy or get killed off relatively early," Delilah said. "The boy is even worse. I see what they see in him, and he's got the weapons skills, but…"

"He's not smart, I know," I said. "You've got to be careful with him or he'll do something so stupid and lose all public support."

"No, right now I've thought to myself that he is Gloss's problem. There is only one Victor and it's not going to be him," she said, and I flinched at the cold tone in her voice. "You can't get too attached to the tributes. Twenty-three of them never make it back."

"How often did you mentor when you started? I would have heard if anybody other than Cashmere did it recently," I wondered. The Capitolians always seemed to want the brother and sister from District 1 mentoring, as that had been the case for the last two years at least. They were the most recent Victors from 1.

"The Victor always mentors the following year, then I had to go every two years until Gloss won," she answered. The look she had was different, like she had decided that I too would die and that was the sole reason she was even talking to me.

"What's mentoring like?" I asked, and Delilah shook her head.

"Your go," she said. "Tell me something else I don't know."

"The major of District 7 is from the Capitol," I said, leaning in and lowering my voice to a whisper. "He was thrown out of the Capitol because of a public scandal but he was close enough to Snow to flaunt his connections."

"Okay, I definitely did not know that," Delilah acknowledged. "But that isn't relevant."

"You are looking for an advantage for your tribute so that you will not have another year with no Victor," I said. "Do you really think I will give anything you will not find out sooner or later by yourself without any proper information I cannot find out by myself?"

"No, this is how it is going to go. You tell me about yourself and I tell you about mentoring," Delilah said, and I rolled my eyes.

"I gave you information, so you tell me one more thing now," I said.

"What is your district partner good at?"

"Axes," I said simply. That much she probably would have found out already, or would do by the time of the interviews. "He's not joining the Careers." That too, the mentors should know, as I heard mentors of tributes in alliances worked together.

The door opened again and I turned around, seeing Gloss standing at the door and looking at me. I gave him a small smile as well, but he completely ignored me and addressed Delilah instead.

"What's District 5 doing here?" he asked.

"District 7," I muttered, correcting him to no avail.

"Fishing for information," Delilah said. "But not about our tributes. She seems to know more about them than we do."

"I doubt that," Gloss said coldly. "Only because you managed to get your tribute to hate you doesn't mean I did. What exactly did you tell that stupid girl from 5?"

"Nothing," Delilah said defensively. She looked at me then he did as well, his expression sending me half way to the door with my hands raised and preparing to run. Again it was stupid, but being in the same room as Hunger Games Victors almost seemed to me as being in the same room as a dangerous bear. But unlike a bear, they _definitely _had killed somebody before.

"I'm sorry for the inevitable death of your tribute," I said to Gloss, watching his cold expression for any changes before running off to the elevator and closing the door without looking for pursuit.

As soon as the door closed, I glanced at the numbers. If that was District 1, I had absolutely no intention of finding out what District 2 was like. The mentors were the two most recent ones, Viktor and Enobaria, and both of them were terrifying.

Without hesitating, I pressed the number three and the elevator whizzed up two floors. I stepped out into the hall, which again seemed like a clone of the seventh floor corridor. I assumed they were all identical.

Beetee found me in the hall. Somehow I was not shocked.

"You seem like a smart girl, Mimi. Shouldn't you know that there are cameras?" Beetee said in a way which made me guess some of the cameras were his. Most likely that was how he had spotted me.

"I know," I said. "But I was not aware that there were rules. As long as I stay in the Training Centre, I can have a look around."

Unlike Delilah, he walked me slowly back to the elevator.

"Should I predict that this year I will be conversing a lot with the mentors of District 7?" he asked me. I found myself nodding without thinking it through, my mind whirling again at that. I did not feel the need to remind him of the tributes' imminent doom like I had told Gloss. Beetee already knew it all too well.

He had a better poker face than Delilah had, certainly. He still cared, but he was cold and calculating instead. There was also resignation. Nobody from District 3 was going to win this year, and he knew it.

District 7's most recent Victor was the 56th Hunger Games, and we'd had only three Victors before then. All the other years, nobody came back no matter how hard the mentors tried. They had probably learned not to care as much, which in itself was scary.

As I lay in my room again I found my entire game-plan changing. I was not going to win; not in the way they talked about winning which was becoming a Victor. Tomorrow I would do exactly the same. I would observe. That was all.

**A/N: The characters Krystal, Dina and Suffra are the narrators of my other story Three Girls and the stories correspond with each other. Also, Finnick will probably be in the next chapter. Please review to tell me what you think. **


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins. **

**A/N: Okay, I know that I haven't updated in a while. As the parallel story Three Girls is basically complete now, I would like your comments on how much I should continue this. I will at least do key points, but that would mean skipping around a little bit. I guess that would depend on how many reviews I get. What do you think? **

**Either way, this is a nice long chapter for you. It features Finnick, like promised, and there will be more Finnick in the next chapter. There is also a bit of Blight and a bit of Gloss, but most of the character including some of the mentors are OCs. I hope you enjoy and keep reading. **

**Chapter 4**

I rapped on Walton's door. Surely loggers started at dawn, so I would not be waking him up as it was five in the morning. Sound, however, travelled through walls so I was more likely to annoy the people on the other floors with my movement. The Capitol had probably found a way to prevent that.

"Hi," I said quickly as he opened it. "I take it that the first day of training was a success for you." I couldn't help myself. "Juggling axes? You must be very confident to juggle dangerous bladed weapons which could easily cut your hands off."

Walton shrugged. "It's not the first time I've done that."

"Was your first time a dare?" I asked, half joking.

"An _experiment,_" Walton said indignantly. "Can't you sleep?" He knew very well that if I could sleep I would not be here. "What have you decided now?"

"How I'm going to win the Hunger Games," I replied.

"Which districts did you go and visit?" Walton asked. "We missed you after dinner."

"Districts 1 and 3," I said simply. That would not give much away, as he already knew I was doing it. Something made me want to trust Walton, at least to a certain extent. If I was not going to become a Victor, then he might. That would be best for my district after all.

I was not going to end the life of another, not after watching them. The more I looked the more human they became, and many of them would not last long at all. Their names seemed burned into my mind. I would make it past the bloodbath; then I would see them in the sky. I did not want to see them in the sky.

"You don't want to kill anybody," Walton stated, and I nodded quickly. My mind swirled again, not quite at maximum capacity due to the lack of sleep. Walton should win. What kind of person did that make me if I wanted him to win even seeing what came after? He was strong. Perhaps he would manage better than most of the others.

"Neither do you," I said. "Trust me Walton; however good you think I am, I am not that good." True. A good person would not have become an informer. There was honour, but survival was usually the exact opposite of that.

"Certain people… I'll be able to," Walton said, and I looked into his eyes. Certain people he would. His anger now was directed at the Capitolians, and he would probably kill for revenge. If he really thought that they deserved it. He did not want to kill the innocents, but I wasn't sure that he _would not_.

I waited at the door. "Don't say you weren't thinking about the same things. You weren't sleeping when I got here either." I nodded at him, before stepping back out into the hall and slipping back into my room.

I tried to sleep. At seven-thirty, Tric came to wake us up. I was already awake, and opened the door just as she knocked with my brightest fake smile. Capitolians really weren't good at deciphering fake smiles from real ones.

Slowly I walked into the dining area, with Tric buzzing beside me and complaining about my hair. It did not look that bad, comparatively. Blight seemed to think the same thing as her about my state, as he did not acknowledge me when I sat next to him.

"Don't worry, you don't have to mentor me," I told him, as if I was talking to air. "Sponsor Walton, he can have all of them even though I doubt that any of them are mine as of yet. What I am going to do I will do without you from this point on."

"Finally embraced you death?" Blight asked, taking in my calm and even tone.

"No, I've embraced my victory," I said. I was not going to kill anybody. That was how I was going to win. If I died in the process, at least I died as some semblance of somebody good. Maybe I would die not as the unloved informer, the traitor to both sides, but as someone somebody could care about given different circumstances. And the life of a Victor did not seem to be a good one anyway.

Walton had family. He could get back to them, even though I didn't know quite who they were just that he had them. From the way he fought. The way he had not given up. Something that might make the Victory worth it.

"Well…" Blight said, still looking at me. "Consider it." It was as close to advice he had given me and he was meant to be my mentor. It was easier that way.

"Keep thinking that way," I told him, eating breakfast. Walton came in, and looked slightly surprised to see us sitting close together and conversing. I gave him a proper smile, speaking to him next. "I wouldn't worry about it. You've got sponsors."

"One of these days I'm sure we'll have a proper conversation where we say roughly what we mean," Walton smirked. He looked a lot less tired than I felt, so I thought my first assumption was probably right. Walton was used to getting up earlier than I was, although he was still stressed out about the Games. It was obvious by his stance.

"One of these days," I echoed. "Just not when we are on camera. So soon." Today, tomorrow, then a day when we were training for the interviews. That was pretty much all the time we had left. On the day of the interviews our stylist would be getting us ready, and the following day it would be the arena already. At that time either of us or both could be dead.

Walton's expression became dark when he guessed what I had been doing. "Don't give all your sponsorship money to me."

"You're betting I have sponsorship money," I said. "While I might after the interviews, now I would have minimal amounts which are useless by themselves. Why assume that I give it to you, when I barely know you?"

"Don't, Mimi," Walton said. I blinked at the darkness in his voice, and realized that he did not want my potential death on his conscience. "If your sponsorship amounts are as small as you think they are, then you can keep them."

I smiled, leaning forwards and realizing that I knew a lot more about Walton than even I thought I did. "What are you fighting to get back to? You aren't fighting as much as that girl from 8 is, certainly." Not for that. I knew which ones were more desperate to get back, as those were the ones which either fell apart or ditched all senses of morals in order to achieve their goal. That did not include most of the Careers. They were still clueless enough to believe that they would win no matter what.

"I think they'll be able to survive without me," Walton said cautiously. "There's a large age gap between my brother and me, and… well, they'll get enough to eat. They'll be sad but they won't be destroyed."

"The whole of District 7 will benefit from having a Victor, and you are the most likely one in years," I told him.

"Most of the people who visited me after the Reaping said that," Walton answered. "But don't sabotage your own chances of survival."

"You know very little about me," I said, and Tric cleared her throat bringing attention back to her.

"Don't lean on the table," she told us, and I moved backwards so I was sitting back down on my seat again. Walton did the same, eating his breakfast slowly. Blight looked at the pair of us, his face blank. I watched his eyes. He did not know any more about me than Walton did and was confused by the conversation.

"Yes Tric Fondant," Walton said with a mock bow, and I grinned at him. I did not know how he managed to make me laugh half the time but somehow he was able. Tric smiled at him as well, not realizing he was sarcastic.

"Ah, there we go. That wasn't so hard to do, was it?" she asked. There was a pause. "Get changed into your training gear and go downstairs. You'll be late soon, so get going." She told us not to wear our training gear at the table, and scolded us if ever we tried to wear anything that did not manage to reach her standard. Blight never did, so she was often annoyed with him.

I walked into my room and pulled on my gear, pulling my hair back and tying it up, then smiling at my reflection. I really did look tired, but I would have to be vigilant. Meeting Walton in the hall, I stared at him again.

"Do you have a district token?" he asked, looking at me. I shook my head. "I thought you didn't. You ought to have something that reminds you of home." I would have said that this was random, but it wasn't. He was trying to do something, and it was related to the sponsorship money. He had guessed what I had asked Blight.

"We will be fighting each other to the death soon, and you do not want to kill me," I stated. "But in order for you to survive I must die." _So why are you trying to help me? _"If you want to help me, what's your district token?"

Walton shook his head and left me alone, leaving even me to wonder what was going through his mind. I didn't think he was even sure. He wanted to help me, but knew he couldn't. I was going to help him too, maybe. If I was not going to kill anybody I was not going to be Victor. District 7 needed a Victor, so it had to be him. Towards the end, nobody was innocent anymore anyway.

I stepped into the elevator alone for the second time, and the elevator whizzed down eight floors to the training room in the basement. Stepping out I spotted that half the pairs had arrived again. My eyes focused on the pair from 12 because they both seemed on the verge of tears. Tulip and Cal. The girl was sixteen and the boy was seventeen. They both looked similar, with olive skin, grey eyes and dark hair, although they clearly weren't directly related. Even several days of food in the Capitol did not prevent them from looking starved and hollow-faced.

The pair from 11 stood next to them, waiting. They were standing further apart than the pair from 12 were, the girl drifting towards the pair from 10 without consciously noticing she was doing so. As Heather, the girl from 11, was not in an alliance with Celia or Hawk and I had not seen her talking to the boy from 10, it was nothing to do with an alliance on her part. She just seemed scared, like she wanted to be on her own. When it came to the other tributes, Heather did not seem like one of the weaker ones. I betted that she would probably make it past the bloodbath as she seemed like somebody who knew it was smart to run.

Walton came in but he stood nowhere near me again, and I did not approach him. It was smart, what he was doing. While I didn't think we had an alliance, it would not be good if anybody else assumed we did. The girl from 2, Ray, approached him.

"Are you sure you won't reconsider?" she asked in her deep voice. "We won't hunt you down and kill you if you join us."

"'No' is the nicest possible answer you can get here," Walton said coldly. He actually sounded threatening, more so than I'd heard him sound before, close to the way Gloss had spoken about me. Ray walked away in a huff, joining Katran and bragging about her great weapons skills I had not seen excessive evidence of.

Krystal, the girl from 1, was the last to survive and Atala called out that training could recommence for the second day. Krystal headed for the knives as I watched her, and once again Suffra joined her. Heather headed to the camouflage station, and Bert started tying knots. Tulip attempted to make fires, not being successful at all. Quickly I hoisted myself up the netting again and watched the others. I was about to turn my attention to somebody else but Suffra's words brought my attention back to them.

"Duh," Suffra said, sounding sarcastic. Again I'd missed the first part of their conversation but they just appeared to be challenging each other. "Do you know where the roof is?" She was playing, a bit like I was doing with the mentors. Suffra Hadley wanted to win, and she was going to step over people to achieve that.

"Um… atop the building," Krystal said, missing out completely on what Suffra was surely thinking. For somebody who did not trust people she did not manage to figure out much about them.

"_Obviously," _Suffra said. "You go up to the twelfth floor, avoid a probably drunk Haymitch Abernathy and then take the stairs. I'll meet you up there tonight. Let's say eight p.m. We can discuss some sort of arrangement then."

"Who's saying we want to be allies?" Krystal asked, trying to be threatening.

"You are," Suffra said. I smiled. Suffra was revealing her true colours and none of the other tributes appeared to be noticing it. They were meeting on the roof. How interesting. Part of my mind was already thinking of the District 1 mentors again, and I wondered what they would 'pay' me for that little nugget of information. Krystal certainly was not going to tell them.

Information was like a currency, just one that was more disputed than the original one. When paying with money, a trader could say they demanded this much money for this amount of product. With information it was harder. The information you trade could be worth so much more than the information you receive.

From Delilah, and Beetee and Blight to a marginally lesser extent, I had worked out that the Victors weren't truly happy. It was something I had long assumed but now knew totally for certain. Being a Victor took a toll on them mentally to a great extent.

I needed something more specific from each of them, but I was not going to stop looking for the other Victors. Doing something helped stop me from being completely terrified. Instead it was just a deep pit in my stomach, but it was better than all-encompassing terror. The type of terror District 12 was obviously feeling. Tulip was crying as she was unable to start a fire. Cal, who had now joined Heather in the camouflage station, stood out which meant he was failing as well. Bert was better. Heather, while not being great at camouflage, was still better than Cal was.

Yet District 1 was still interesting. After Suffra left Krystal headed for the edible plants station to my shock. Yup, she was definitely different, although as I kept on observing her it was obvious that she was not very good. District 1 training, like I had previously guessed, did not cover edible plants or likely most survival skills. They always had sponsors and controlled the Cornucopia.

I was not the only one who had noticed that one. Suffra, who was still watching her potential ally, knew it. The other Careers, with the possible exception of Garnet, knew it. Gregor from 5, Hawk and Celia knew it. Most of the others were focused on their own things.

As soon as Krystal left the edible plants station Suffra joined her again, this time offering to go to the same station together. Krystal, not wanting to go to the camouflage station, walked away from her and back to the weapons.

She was not that different from the other Careers, focusing on what she already knew. Some would argue I was no different. I already knew how to watch; I was watching. I already knew how to climb; I was climbing. But I was learning so much about the other tributes, which was so much more beneficial to me.

Especially if I was doing it this way. Krystal might feel the same way, as being intimidating was a good Career strategy. She wasn't stupid. She was not overly intelligent, but she not completely stupid either.

"I hate you!" Katran yelled at Walton and I immediately looked at them. My eyes widened as I watched Walton cock his head cockily.

"I'm sorry, that is not the bulls-eye," Walton mocked. "Leave the axes to me, mate. You aren't great at them."

"I'm better than you!" Katran yelled, although he clearly wasn't. He threw another axe and it embedded itself into the red area of the target, but getting nowhere near the perfect centre. Walton tossed another one, hitting the exact centre. Katran might be the well trained tribute but he had no hope of beating the logger's apprentice at axes.

"No you aren't," Walton said, and Katran stormed away seething. I let out a small laugh before I could stop myself, and saw the twelve year old boy looking up at me curiously. I watched him. He looked more withdrawn than yesterday but not upset. I doubted he really knew what was happening, and that was only a good thing. The only thing worse than sudden death was knowing it was coming for weeks without being able to change it.

* * *

Lunch was called and I slid down the net again, sitting close to the Careers and listening to them brag. Garnet. He was my next target but he did not appear to do anything out of the ordinary. Or Katran. While he was impossibly threatening I could not shake the feeling that I recognized him. I would ask him outright.

Was what my prep team said correct? Had his brother died in the bloodbath of the 66th Hunger Games? They were just bragging about their weapons skills so loudly that anybody could hear them, so I would gain nothing new by listening to them. I watched them instead, shovelling food into my mouth as I refused to take my eyes off them.

Ray was tense. While she bragged, I could see that she was nervous. Katran was stupider in that respect, as he was certain of his victory. So certain that he would give people openings simply because he thought they were too pathetic to take them. Garnet just stared ahead, putting in an odd word here or there but never anything applicable or intelligent sounding.

District 4 looked out of their depth. They were strong looking to all of the other tributes, but to me they just looked nervous. Even the Careers were feeling the strain. Only several more days until the arena. They had all been trained; they were just beginning to notice that only one of them could possibly get out.

And in the bottom of my heart I did not want any of them to get out. Walton should get out. The Careers had been cast as the baddies in my mind like they had to the rest of the people in my district, where truly it was the Capitol I should hate if I allowed myself to feel.

But the Capitolians who designed it that way underestimated the amount of hate humans were capable of feeling. Many people I had seen easily had hate available for both the richer Career districts _and _the Capitol.

Looking away from the Careers I realized that again most of the tributes were sitting alone. Gregor and Dina were together, as were Celia and Hawk and the pair from 12. They looked almost happier together, like they had given up but were happy for the company. The depressed look on their faces made me want to talk to them. I was never any good at offering reassurances.

It was the first time that I felt like I had the honour my district was famous for. I would help the pair from 12, not as an alliance, but I would help them. What did you say to someone who would inevitably die? Nothing sprang to mind immediately and with certainty.

Maybe if I was just honest without demanding anything in return. Giving instead of trading. Only for them, one then the other, before I would clamber up again. So many things I wanted to do now, but so little time. The time after training I would most likely not meet the other tributes; I had other things to do in that time. Tomorrow was the last day of training and we only had the morning.

My breathing sped up and I gasped, biting down on my lip and making the numbness return. I could not let the others see me, not like that. I would not show weaknesses. Not to them, because if I had learned anything it was that showing weaknesses only meant that they would destroy you. Even if I helped people, I had to do it on my terms. They could not seek me out. I had to seem like I controlled everything although clearly I didn't.

After lunch, I bumped into Katran Phanes almost literally. I made my face into a terrified scowl, and spoke out loud when he turned to look at me: "Did your brother die in the 66th Hunger Games?" Katran actually looked shocked for a second rather than threatening.

"You're dead, District 7," Katran threatened, but it was softer like he did not want to call attention to us. I had no doubt he was going to go for it, and I stared into his eyes with a half-smile playing on my face. Yes, I think my prep team were right. I turned on my heel and quickly climbed up the netting, making sure Katran did not attack me from behind.

Bert the twelve-year-old was looking up at me again. I looked down at him, then let myself to tip backwards so that I was no longer holding onto the net and laughing despite myself. Walton had been showing off when he had juggled axes; I was showing off now because I could dangle upside-down without falling and was completely comfortable in the air. It actually seemed a lot safer than the ground even now. If anybody tried to approach me I could feel them coming with vibrations.

He waved at me and I gave him a slow nervous wave back. The net bristled when he approached the side and started climbing up cautiously. I let him get half way up before I started helping him until he got to the horizontal area and could lie down.

"I'm Bert," he said, and I smiled.

"I know," I said. "I'm Mimi." Somehow he seemed more than a year younger than Ash, and so much more innocent.

"You're good at climbing," Bert said.

"I'm from District 7," I said.

"That's the one with all the trees, isn't it?" Bert asked. I nodded. "It must be cool having trees like that. All we have in tarmac and concrete."

"We also have snow," I said. He just seemed so young, and I wondered whether he was still excited about snow. Or whether he even knew what snow was. "Do you have snow?"

"Sometimes. It doesn't settle," Bert said, and I sighed as I changed the topic to a deeper and darker one.

"Do you know what the Hunger Games are?" I asked. Everybody in Panem should know what the Hunger Games were, but the way he acted sometimes made me doubt he did. Bert's whole expression changed. Yes, he knew. I gave him some advice that if I was a mentor I would give tributes who did not seem to be able to run and were fantastic at hiding. "In the bloodbath, hide. They won't be looking at you, or for you, immediately. Cover your ears and close your eyes."

"Why are you helping me?" Bert asked. "Don't you want to kill me?" He definitely knew, but somehow he managed to remain so innocent-seeming. Was I like that when I was twelve? I doubted it.

"No, I don't," I replied. It was almost a sudden decision which I made without thinking about it. "Shall we be allies?" As Bert thought about it I considered what Beetee had said yesterday. How had he guessed I was going to do that before I had even considered it? I did not know I had even wanted allies at the time.

Protect the twelve year old. A new objective, and then I started laughing causing him to look at me strangely. A bit like I had known I was going to be reaped without knowing that I did, I hadn't known that I would decide to ally with this boy but I always had.

"What can you do?" he asked, still sounding innocent. His voice had not broken yet so he sounded like he could potentially be a girl. If I closed my eyes I would not be able to tell whether it was a girl or a boy speaking.

I could have listed skills, but a small smile just crossed my face as well. "I observe, and I survive," I said, then looked at him. "I already know what you can do. You hide."

That was all I said to the boy from 3 that day. Garnet gave nothing away, but the only reason for that was that he did not have anything to give away. The only thing I managed to figure out about him was his district token, which was a small golden decorated chain which he kept in his pocket. Watching closely I tried to see if I could spot the district tokens of the other tributes. They weren't always worn to training. The girl from 3 had a cog on a chain around her neck. Bert had a heart made out of wires, made for him by a close family member. Ray and Katran had chains as well, except they were not golden and had tags on them. They looked almost identical and I thought it was probably something they had got from the place they had trained.

It said a lot about people, what they brought. I should have considered that on day 1, but it was easier to read people than to find their district tokens. That did not stop me from bumping into Garnet at the end of training after I hopped down off the net. He swore at me but did not notice that I had helped myself to his district token and that it was now in my pocket instead of his. The girl from 12 caught my eye and I reminded myself of my decision to help her.

"You look confident," she said, sounding just a little bit bitter. I smiled at her, my shield going right up. I was not going to show weakness, and as if I was speaking to Aimery Harrt I spoke a lot more confidently than I normally would have done.

"Oh I am," I said. Walton was going to be Victor. I was going to win because I would, for the first time in my life, not be owned by them. Maybe I would even be considered as good.

"You think you will win?" Tulip asked, sounding slightly shocked. I looked into her eyes, trying to consider what to tell the inevitably dead girl. Was that how Delilah had felt? That she might as well tell me everything simply because I would not be alive to repeat it? She hadn't in the end, but she probably would have done if Gloss hadn't come. People, when pushed far enough, gave details whether they were meant to or not.

If only I knew exactly how to push them.

"Yes, but I won't be a Victor," I said, sounding a lot more certain than I felt. If I figured out how to win without killing anybody, could I become Victor? They wouldn't like me, the Capitol wouldn't. The girl they had sent to her death in the Hunger Games. The girl who had won the same Games on her own terms. I could certainly bet that they would kill me long before they would allow me to do that. "I'm confident that I won't kill anybody, and I will keep to that. In my own way, I will win."

How many days did that mean I had left? The bloodbath? That would certainly be the fastest death, but nobody would remember that. I wanted to survive, although I did not want to return. District 7, with Harrt and Prime and nobody who really cared for me. The only person there I cared about, Ash, would be so much safer without me there.

Actually, he would have been so much safer if he hadn't come to say goodbye to me. They would have a record of him there, a record that he knew me. I felt sick when I thought that; physically sick. I should have figured out that I had been expecting what I subconsciously knew, as I could have just doomed him.

"In that case, I am confident that I will win too," Tulip said. I hugged her although I wasn't one for that, and a smile crossed my face. At least somebody would be able to benefit from it. My thoughts wandered one last time.

What would the Hunger Games be if every single tribute decided to step off their platforms the moment they got out of the tube? What would happen if there was no Victor?

_You don't own me President Snow. Not anymore. If you wanted me, you shouldn't have sent me to my death. _

* * *

My hand hovered over the buttons in the elevator again. I had not looked at anybody during dinner, just grabbed my food and hid in my room. I hadn't gone anywhere near Walton; there were several days left for that. Now I stood alone in the elevator, one hand hovering over the buttons and the others around Garnet's chain in my pocket.

It was golden. Proper gold, which when sold probably could have fed me for years. It was something I would have gone for when I was younger and stupider, and had once. But there was nothing a girl like me could do with gold. They knew I was poor, and I would be executed for thievery if ever I tried to sell it.

With the Hunger Games, it was already a death sentence. And there was honour amongst thieves as I had every intention of returning it along with tons of information. Of course, as this was the competition, I would have to benefit from it. I had my ally to protect now, and I would protect Bert. After that, I'd have a completely different strategy.

Gold. What did I know about the training centres in One? It was nothing like those from Two, with their run of the mill chains as their district tokens. The gold was incredibly expensive, which meant he was rich. That might explain it. With the amount of rich tributes everybody had seen from One over the years, it seemed like they paid for their children to go in even if they weren't good fighters or intelligent.

That would explain Garnet, certainly. But why this? Why this golden chain instead of all the other things he could have had as his district token? No writing. No meaning. He probably had not even noticed it was missing, and he seemed to have utter confidence of his return. I did not have a district token. I would not have my final moments with an object pressed to me, reminding me about what I was going to miss. If anything it was cruel. Hope was inside, not something that could be placed onto an object. All it seemed to say was 'this is what you are missing out on', having to hold onto something which you could never return to.

Yet people felt hope in different ways. I saw the way Dina from 3 clasped at the cog on her chest like it was her salvation, the way Bert kept his token on him. It obviously meant enough to Garnet for him to have it with him during training, where it could be damaged, or he cared too little to mind that it might be damaged. Later I would write it down, consider it, taking in the details of something so pointless and subtle which would let me learn about my fellow tribute in so much deeper a way.

I pressed the button for the first floor. Might as well return the most expensive thing I had ever seen which wasn't from or for the Capitol. It would be for the Capitol though. Garnet was not going to win, and his district token would belong to a Capitolian museum if he dropped it. Anything in the arena was used for Capitolian entertainment, as after the Hunger Games it became a tourist site.

This time I was not hesitant walking through the doors. I knocked on the door again, feeling a lot more tired and exhausted than I had done the previous day, but everything else was all the same. The sense of déjà vu almost overwhelmed me.

"District 5?" Gloss growled as he opened the door. I raised my hands in innocence and shook my head.

"District 5 this year are Casey and Gregor," I said, my lips turning up. "I'm District 7, the one with all the trees. I've got something for you… or your tribute. Can I come in or shall I take my information with me as I retreat upstairs?" _That's good, Mimi, treat him like he is Harrt and ignore the fact that treating Harrt like that likely contributed to you being sent to the arena to begin with. _

"Aren't you meant to be terrified?" Gloss asked. "_Shaking _in fear. Sobbing because she is going to die in just a few short days?"

"You'll be surprised," I told him, then remembered the year he won. "Did you expect that boy from 6 to get so close?" Gloss's poise changed from being annoyed with me to being completely tense, and I was telling myself that I was not intimidated. "I'm not here for you, anyway. Is Delilah around?"

Gloss grabbed my wrist and I glared at him, the small smile still on my face. I was pushing him to react although I did not want him to react. Finally he looked at me like he considered dragging me right back to the elevator and throwing me there.

"What are you here for? Why are you even here?" Gloss asked. "Are you too small to reach the number seven in the elevator?"

"I just about manage," I said sarcastically. "But I am here with information about your tributes, so I would like to talk to Delilah. While I find her despicable, she seems to be less hostile." Gloss glowered at me but moved aside to let me in. I sat on the edge of the sofa, not expecting him to follow me. He didn't, and instead just stood at the doorway as I sat stiffly.

"You now want something from me," I stated. "If not you could easily have thrown me back into the elevator. I also want information from you, but there are almost two dozen other Victors here I could ask. So when information is concerned, you're the one who is benefitting from this more."

"I'm not benefitting from this at all," Gloss said tensely, finally following me in.

"No? You're figuring out which of the tributes is a threat, because despite what you may think the girl is not doomed yet," I answered.

"Krystal is more Delilah's department," Gloss responded, and I raised my eyebrows. He was trying not to give anything away, acting strong and powerful like a good Victor should. His words and actions would fool any Capitolian in a ten mile radius, but I was right. If he really did not care at all, I wouldn't still be here.

"How do you die in the Hunger Games?" I asked, and Gloss started laughing.

"Really? _That's _what you want to know. Twenty-three tributes manage to figure that one out every single year," Gloss said, and I smiled again. There were five ways to win the Hunger Games. How many were there to die in them? Killed by another tribute. Killed by Gamemakers. Killed by the elements, which usually was also the Gamemakers. Killed by poisoning oneself, or lack of survival skills. _Killed by the Capitol_.

The Hunger Games were just like every single part of Panem. Killed by the Capitol. Even though they came up with excuses, it was the most common cause of death. I had once jokingly told Ash I wanted that on my headstone when they inevitably got tired of me knowing their secrets. But no. I wanted to be memorable now.

"You owe me information, District 1," I said, letting my smile widen. This was the Games. Not yet the arena, but there was a reason why doom started at the Reaping. As soon as one got on the train they started having to act, plan, strategize. "Why don't I pay you in gold?" I tossed him Garnet's district token, which he caught. Like the previous day, I was at the door in a flash, leaning against the doorframe.

I was not good at getting information from people in conversations; I watched people and analysed them more than I spoke to them. I would have to direct the conversation in the right direction. As soon as they saw me doing it, they would stop talking, but their expression still gave everything away. Gloss was shocked, too, as I doubted he had ever seen anybody like me. Informers were rare. Informers, at least in the sense I was, outside District 7, the district with the Capitolian mayor, were even rarer.

"I owe you nothing," Gloss said. "You aren't meant to be down here. Actually, if you want to go that way, you owe me for stealing from  
my tribute."

"_Borrowed_," I said. "If I stole it, you would not have it. And I gave you information." Because I gave people puzzle pieces without showing them the picture. Garnet had not gone complaining to him, or Gloss would not have been shocked. Either he lost it and I picked it up, which knowing Garnet even slightly was actually likely; or I took it without him noticing.

Gloss smirked. "If you are really short of ways to die in the Games, stab yourself in the chest." He was meaning to be sarcastic, but it was true. I rolled my eyes, indicating that I found it a stupid suggestion. There was a bone protecting the heart, and after days of hunger I would not be strong enough to thrust it through.

"I'm glad you no longer dislike me," I said simply. "I probably won't see you around, but watch out for me on the big screen. Thanks for the information. Your tribute is meeting Eight on the roof." More confusion, as none of the information he gave me again had been said out loud. It was good. It would not surprise me if every single room in the Capitol was bugged, much like all the important rooms in District 7 were. Then you had the people who watched, like I did, camouflaged so well that you could barely see them.

I doubted the Capitol had watchers, as with their wigs and colours they would not blend in anywhere even with their own furnishings. Once again I stood in the elevator, pressing the button for floor three. Even when the elevator opened, I did not step out.

"Yes, Beetee, you will be talking to the mentors from 7 a lot this year," I said, then clicked the number above it. District 4. The boy who volunteered, but did not want to kill. Not to the same extent Districts 1 and 2 were programmed to. The girl who never wanted to go into the Games at all, but had received enough Career training to get in with the pack.

The mentors this year for District 4 were Finnick, the Capitol's Golden Boy, and Brooke, the girl who had won the so called 'Capitol's Games'. After the 50th Hunger Games was a disaster in their eyes, they needed a fantastic arena to get the Capitol completely happy and entertained again. Of course, it was a new Head Gamemaker. The previous one had been executed for not preventing Haymitch Abernathy from reaching that force field. Fire. A sudden cliff collapse. There were many things they could have come up with to prevent him reaching that cliff at the edge in the final moments.

So bye-bye Head Gamemaker. Enter a new Head Gamemaker, a deadly arena, and a pile of tributes even from lower districts who did not seem quite as useless in their eyes or emaciated as usual. Brooke won, not due to skill or epic strength, but likely because she supported the Capitol wholly. She promised them a show, loved the Capitol, and was honest about both of those points. Any tributes who spoke out where thrown together, sometimes with deadly mutts included in the package. Brooke wasn't. She drew the kills of hers out, still truly loved the Capitol, and they let her live to the final three.

From that point on she won with her own merits. The Games went the Capitol's way, and any hope the districts may have had was squashed. Her Hunger Games were repeated the most often until Brooke was at least in her late twenties, and only really stopped being frequent after Finnick won.

Brooke seemed like somebody who would hate Finnick for stealing her limelight. This was another one of the districts which I would prefer to speak solely to the tributes. I had found out everything that I needed to know; why was I still doing this? Why ask questions about myself? As soon as I stopped moving, stopped planning, I would start panicking. The words 'inevitable' and 'death' would combine in my mind and I would start feeling them. I could not let myself feel those things until after they actually happened, which in this case meant never feeling the psychological impact of them at all.

I tapped on the door almost tentatively. Who would I prefer? The boy – and he really was just a boy, because although he won three years ago he was no older than me – who killed the closest thing my district had to a Victor for many years. Or the woman who, with the help of the Capitol, destroyed the hope of the districts that the Hunger Games weren't unbeatable. Quickly I picked Finnick. At least he had never said "the Capitol gave us everything we have" as if it was a good thing, without a single evidence of a lie in his face.

I knocked again, this time louder. Maybe I should be trying Walton again, working some sort of plan between the two of us out. The only Victors I had talked to so far either thought I was going to die or disliked me. Actually, they all thought I was going to die, and I found a fair amount of them despicable for what they did in their Games. Some of them almost bordered Capitolian in terms of killing people in gruesome ways.

"Go away, Anemone. I don't care!" a female voice called from inside. Brooke, surely, as it did not sound too Capitolian. While Brooke probably wanted to live in the Capitol full time, she was still forced to live in District 4. It was strategy, after all. She loved the Capitol, and if she lived in the city it would stop the illusion of district person loving the Capitol. It would just seem like another Capitolian loving the Capitol.

I almost laughed. Here was something I did not foresee, even though it was stupid. Delilah had probably expected to see Krystal when I knocked, with the slight surprise crossing her face for a second at the beginning. Brooke was expecting it to be Anemone, but not Spear. Interesting. And 'I don't care' would indicate, that once again, Spear was the one who was stronger about this.

"I want to talk to Finnick Odair," I said through the door, which still remained shut.

"You and every other girl ever. Just replace talk with something a little more mature," Brooke said spitefully. "How did you get in here?" So now she thought I was a Capitolian who had sneaked in, although I did not have the accent.

The door opened and Finnick stood there, with a really annoyed looking Brooke behind him slouched on the sofa drinking expensive red wine out of a glass. He had a fake smile on his face as he greeted me.

"What can I do for you, honey?" Finnick asked, in his sexy 'irresistible to women' voice. Since he had turned sixteen he had almost been spending all of his time in the Capitol, having lover after lover, not caring about a single one of them enough to see them again. But if it was to do with caring, I doubted he would see them at all. I found myself smiling, although I knew he put the voice on as easily as he put on pants… bad example.

"So, what's an evening with the handsome Finnick Odair worth?" I asked, not being nearly as good as flirting as he was. My words came out disjointed, my tone simply odd. I looked into his eyes as if I was a hopeless romantic, gauging his reaction, a slight smile on my face as I tried to put it together. It wasn't about love or even lust. They paid him. That way round.

Finnick's smile to anybody else would seem smooth. "A lot more than you could ever hope to afford, District 7." At least he got my district right, but my mind was visualizing him going to them. They had the money, because all those high-up Capitol ladies wouldn't be whores. If they were, it would not be public like that, but a scandal almost as ruining as what Mayor Prime must had done. Yet it was rare that two girls had to fight over him for one night.

"Damn. I knew I should have kept that gold necklace I found in Garnet's pocket," I said jokingly. He smiled along with me, but it was still fake.

"I'm sorry District 7. I think you should return to your own floor," Finnick said. How did he manage to make even that sound sexy? Sexy was a tone that was not natural to humans. It was an act. And act he was good at, better than anybody I had ever seen. Although his only competition would have been older boys at the orphanage who were trying to sound sexy to land somebody rich, and a balding man who was trying to entice his mistress back into his house in such a way that the unattractive teenage boys beat him in my mind.

"I'm Mimi Catalpa," I said simply, holding out my hand when I introduced myself. Brooke's eyes were on us as he raised my hand to his lips and I laughed despite myself. "Who are you trying to impress?" It was still the closest a boy had ever come to kissing me. That was something else I'd missed out on. I glanced over at Brooke, who was still glaring at us.

"Who says I am trying to impress anybody?" Finnick asked with one eyebrow raised.

"Me, because I just said so. Your body language, because you are acting. And just generally: because sexy is not a natural state for anybody," I said quickly, my eyes looking still looking into his perfect sea-green ones. Watching for reaction. He was a good actor, but if I looked past the colour hard enough I could see that his eyes too were hollow. Like those of the other Victors. I looked around the room just a little bit, something telling me that nobody was meant to know that it was an act. "It works."

I was exactly as bad at flirting as I was at comforting people. Only Brooke thought it was real as she made a gagging noise.

"Get into the queue after the rest of Panem," she said, sipping at her wine glass. She looked at her watch. "Speaking of which, don't you have a party to go to?" Finnick glared at Brooke with intense hate and the thirty-four year old woman shrugged, then he smiled at me again as if he had not dropped his act.

"Until later, honey," he winked, something which somehow said 'get lost' although he had told me the exact opposite. Finnick went to get changed into something more revealing, and Brooke motioned for me to sit down. I sat, and she threw the remaining contents of her wine glass on my shirt, looked at me for a moment, then started refilling it. I jumped up.

"Hey Odair. Your girlfriend's a mess!" Brooke called mockingly. Finnick poked his head out, taking in the red wine which covered my front in a shade of crimson which was just the wrong colour for blood but getting really close. I glanced into her eyes. There was no warmth at all, not like some of the other Victors. Only coldness. Like she had been sitting on ice to long, the coldness seeping right into her core and taking away anything else she had ever felt. Except it did not kill her, leaving her a shell feeling nothing but hate. Even to the Capitol, now, as there was no warmth in her gaze at all. Years ago she had been a desirable Victor. Now she was mostly ignored.

"Is that how you justify it. The people you killed?" I asked. "You against the world? Everybody else out to get you."

"I don't have to justify anything. I'm a Victor now. I get everything handed to me on a platter," Brooke drawled, her words cold. Maybe that was the case for her, the Victor who truly loved the Capitol enough to be loved in return, but didn't work for most of the others. She was not even lying. There were no indications of it. Perhaps she had just stopped caring so much that she no longer did.

"Want to come with me Brooke? Perhaps Minnie will be there," Finnick sighed, holding out his hand like he was going to pull her up.

"Your charm doesn't work on me, Odair," Brooke said. Finnick held his hand out to me as he left, but I refused with a quick shake of my head. "You see. Even the doomed girl from District 7 no longer wants to be seen with you, and she looks like she is covered in blood."

Finnick left with another fake smile in my direction, keeping up appearances for somebody I wasn't even sure was watching. As soon as he did, I got up and looked for very obvious bugs and cameras although there weren't any I could spot. Beetee. He seemed to know about those things. If I went downstairs, I would be able to ask him how to spot the cameras. How to spot the electrical traps. It was something I wouldn't learn in the training centre.

A long beat passed. Brooke looked at her watch again then got up, casting only a quick look in my direction. "You can stay there if you want. The tributes are in the other room. If you want to kill them now, go ahead, because you'll be about as dead anyway as soon as you get into the arena. I'm going out to party. If the Capitol listening in hears this, tell them that I am not fit to mentor and I can't give a crap."

Brooke walked out of the room, and I sighed. This could not be normal. Finnick flirting, acting for either Brooke or the Capitol, most likely the latter as the former did not care either way. Brooke not caring about my presence or even her own tributes. Delilah apparently avoiding me, as there was plenty of time for her to come when I was talking to Gloss. Gloss not hating me but still having his guard right up, not trusting me, but humouring me. Beetee who had simply escorted me back to the elevator, not wanting to get attached. Blight having absolutely no faith in my survival, which was accurate, and my ability to win which was less so. Alder ignoring me completely.

Did a normal tribute even meet that many Victors usually? Probably not, as I had actively sought them out. But the way they acted towards me was strange. They were all humouring me. Every single one of them. Even the so-called Career Victors, with the possible exception of Brooke, had not directly told me that I was going to die.

I had done that before, back in District 7. Years ago, the first year I had been eligible for the Reaping, I'd come across a woman starving in the cold winter. With the pale almost blue colour of her skin, and the blackness of her extremities, I knew she was doomed. Freezing, starving, almost dead. I'd knelt by her and offered her some of the pie I had stolen from the windowsill of one of the upper class houses.

'Eat,' I'd told her. She'd looked up, registered my presence then. 'Eat.' She'd shaken her head, knowing that she was doomed and not wanting to take the food from me, but I had insisted. So when 'the end' got plastered across her story, the final chapters at least could have had something other than pain.

They were helping me the only way they had any intention to: humouring me. They did not think they were giving me much at all, simply letting me stand there and living my final days. The girl from District 7 who was doomed in the Hunger Games.

"Anemone," I knocked on the door of the female tribute, having moved before I was consciously aware I was moving. Helping that woman, years ago, was one of the only honourable things I had ever done apart from both rescuing Ash although recently I had probably doomed him. Before I had been obsessed with my own survival, after I still was and I became an informer to further that. I still wanted Walton to win, but I was going to help the doomed people like they were trying to do with me.

"Who are you?" Anemone shrieked, opening the door.

"Mimi, District 7," I introduced myself. "This is rather odd, but your mentors have completely left you to it, and I have not been ordered to leave this floor since Finnick left. I'm the one who has not done any training so far." That'll change tomorrow.

"What are you doing here?" Anemone asked, still looking shocked.

"Sorry about you being reaped, but we both know how this is going to end," I told her. District 4 was not going to win this year. If it came down to it, maybe I would not allow it. How far would I go to protect Walton? To protect Bert, as Walton could defend himself better than I could? "But I am saying, as District 1 and 8 are upstairs working out a currently similar arrangement, that I will not be the one to end it."

"I am not going to die," she said. "I am not giving up. I don't know what you are doing here, but please leave me alone. I don't need an alliance with District 7. Or… well… not you anyway."

"Walton isn't going to ally with you. He's in these Games alone," I said. "And who says I am offering an alliance. I am simply informing you of my decision, information you may use as appropriate. Thank you for proving to me that you are nowhere near as confident as you try and make yourself seem, even though I had an inkling as soon as you showed up for training and did not volunteer."

"You're on my kill list now," Anemone said, trying to seem tough. But I did not quake, not like Dina did when Anemone had called her a bloodbath. There was no malice there, and if she was with the pack and their current amount of argument, I would hear them coming miles off.

"If you say so," I said, stepping out of the room again. Spear was there, and he looked at me incredibly strangely before visiting his district partner. The door closed in my face, but I heard her giggling. District 4 were friends, much like me and Walton were becoming, but judging by the fact that they weren't avoiding each other it was deeper. Nothing romantic, simply comfort and friendship between two people who were destined to fight each other but for now were allies.

I sat down on the couch in the room I had been in, trying to see whether the room Finnick had gone into was a bathroom. I really ought to wash myself up before returning to my floor or my mentors might ask questions or Tric would screech in her high-pitched voice. The smell of the alcohol, now that I thought about it again, was strong. I curiously tasted a bit of it from the bottle with the tip of my tongue, and a disgusting bitter taste filled my mouth.

Even Brooke wouldn't be drinking it for the flavour, even if it was an acquired taste. What was she trying to cover up? And Finnick? Right now I was adding two and two up and coming up with seven. I yawned again, knowing I should go back up to my floor but not bringing myself to move.

There was spite, and then there was being completely cold like Brooke was. In school we had learned about this thing known as permafrost, or at least I had heard of it. It was ice that never melted. Brooke seemed to be like that. Only people who had nobody would be like that.

So Brooke was like me, not allowing herself to feel much at all. Although she went to the other extreme, which was trying to verbally tear into people. If I didn't have Ash, the one person I had cared about before I had come to a fight to the death ironically enough, would I be the same?

As for Finnick. He was surely acting for the Capitol, acting as a persona nobody had naturally as he knew there were cameras too. Him for them, because he still had people to protect.

I was doomed. I probably should be doing the same thing for Ash. He really should not have come to visit me. They would have him on record now.

"I'm sorry," I said into the air. I did not put my brother's name on the end of that. I wasn't going to make it obvious. If Finnick saw the need to act when in private, I really ought to be worried. Fear passed through me and I felt physically sick, my body tense on the sofa which I still sat on.

**Secondary A/N: If you want, check out my parallel stories. Three Girls is narrated by Krystal (1), Dina (3) and Suffra (8). There is also a one-shot from Tulip (12) POV called Tulip's Tale. Don't forget to leave reviews on those stories either. XD**


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